


The Bottom Half of an Hourglass

by fowl68



Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dancing, F/M, Falling In Love, Late Night Conversations, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Martel Lives!AU, Nightmares, Physical Therapy, Plants, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Secrets, Seraphim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 56,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fowl68/pseuds/fowl68
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To have Martel back, but for her not to know them was almost worse than losing her the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The words in italics are from various songs. Here's the list:
> 
> Through the Ghost by Shinedown  
> For Longer than Forever from the Swan Princess  
> Gone, Gone, Gone by Phillip Phillips  
> For the Dancing and the Dreaming from How to Train Your Dragon 2  
> Fall for You by Secondhand Serenade  
> Melodies of Life by Nobuo Uematsu from Final Fantasy IX
> 
> Title is from Immortals by Fall Out Boy.

* * *

_I want people to tell their children terrifying stories about the things we did for love._  
-Anonymous

* * *

_Speak of the devil, look who just walked into the room  
The gilded and faded notion of someone I once knew_

* * *

The castle on Derris-Kharlan was silent, as it had been since Mithos' death. The machines hummed quietly, but Kratos had long ago filtered out that sound, he was so accustomed to it. There were corpses of angels and broken robots in the corridors, loose wires sometimes still having a spark left.

Kratos cleaned methodically, checking every room for any kind of threat. Not that he thought there was any, but he hadn't survived this long without being careful. _(The work is something he needs. He's restless like he hasn't been in several millennia. He needs to do something while he figures out what he's going to do)_

He gathered every Exsphere in the containers on the impossibly high walls, setting them aside to destroy them. There was the corpse of the dragon as well, lying in the entryway, wings shrunken and shriveled, scales having long ago lost their shimmer and strength from being trapped inside for so long. He deserved to be buried; one of the last dragons of his kind, stuck in ruins of an ancient castle held together by the impossible. He would want to be outside, in the mountains. The most Kratos could do was burn his body and spread the ashes outside. The dragon—even with his increased strength—was too heavy or not maneuverable with his size.

He did just that, finding an urn to place the ashes in and setting it by the door. He had more cleaning to do, but when he went outside next, he would lay the dragon to rest.

Kratos was several floors down when he heard the scream, echoing through the empty rooms and corridors. He sprinted up the stairs, sword in hand. Who was left here?

He froze as he stepped through the door into what had been the Great Seed's chamber. A woman was collapsed on the floor, long hair pooling about her. She was pale, very pale, like she hadn't seen sunlight in a very long time. Hazel eyes were wide and terrified and she tried to scramble away, but her arms—little more than skin over bone—couldn't even hold her up.

But he knew that face, even as emaciated as it was. Knew its shape, knew its expressions.

"Martel?"

There was no recognition in those eyes, but the terror lessened slightly. Kratos sheathed his sword, which also helped. Was she one of Mithos' many empty shells that he'd attempted to put Martel's soul in? No, she was too life-like. There was nothing false about her. Kratos' sharp eyes could pick out the scars on her and her lips were bloody, likely from when she'd screamed. If this was the true Martel, her lips had been sealed shut for four thousand years.

Kratos took a step closer, but she flinched, so he stepped back, crouching down so that they were eye level. "Martel?"

The woman shook her head, looking lost. She opened her mouth to try and speak, but the only thing that came out was a hoarse croak, the voice muscles atrophied as much as the rest of her.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Kratos told her. There was a flash of no understanding across her face and he remembered that language tended to change in four thousand years. It took a small effort to switch back to the common tongue of his youth and repeat himself.

She understood him that time, which cemented his theory. This was Martel Yggdrasill. But her body should have been destroyed with the crazed Tree. They'd all heard her, when the Mana Cannon struck.

But there had been a remnant of the Tree left, here, in Derris Kharlan. Sheena had taken it down and nearly been killed by it herself. If the Tree survived, even in such a state, it stood to reason that so could Martel, particularly since, knowing Mithos, he'd put layers and layers of powerful preservation and protection spells on her.

"Do you know who I am?" Kratos asked.

There was a little shake of her head. _(That lances something old, something he'd thought was gone. She doesn't recognize him. One of his oldest friends doesn't even know who he is…But this is no time for sentimentality. She needs medical attention. Kratos knows some, but he's no Healer)_

He had to clear his throat before introducing himself. "My name is Kratos. I can help you, if you'll let me."

It took her a moment, but she nodded. Kratos stepped closer, careful not to make any movement too sudden. He studied her state. Her muscles were all but gone, not even capable of holding her up. The only reason she was even sitting up was because she was leaning on the dais that Mithos had had her on. She'd tried to get up and collapsed there.

"Can you walk or stand?" She shook her head. "I'm going to have to lift you, alright?" Another moment before a nod of assent.

She weighed nothing, even without his increased strength. He took her to the infirmary that the seraphim had kept on the upper floors, as they were really the only ones who would need the medical attention. The Grand Cardinals did, sometimes, but they were rarely up here when they did.

Kratos set her down on the cot. First order of business was to get water and nutrients into her. He wet a towel and gently pressed it against her bloody lips, dabbing away the blood and soothing the dry, cracked skin. He held a cup to her lips, tipping a little bit of water down her throat at a time. There was no way she was going to be able to chew or maybe even swallow any food. Not yet. But Kratos could make at least a broth, to start.

"Why did you call me Martel?"

Kratos wouldn't have heard her if it weren't for his enhanced senses, her voice was so soft. He turned. "…I know you. I've known you for a very long time. Your name is Martel Yggdrasill."

"…Why don't I remember?"

"I don't know. But we'll figure it out. I promise."

* * *

Kratos stayed in the infirmary after she fell asleep, sitting on a stool, hands folded and forearms on his thighs, trying to figure out his next step. Yuan needed to know. But would he _want_ to know? Yuan had grieved for her, had done his mourning. He'd found himself again, had picked up his pieces and soldiered on. To bring it all back would be cruel.

 _(Except Kratos can still hear Anna's laughter, loud and unashamed. Can still see her smile, still knows the taste of her on his lips. He hears her voice, stubborn and unyielding or sweet and warm. He's been down this road, they all have. If he could have her back, if only for an instant, he would do anything. And that's the problem with men like him, like_ them. _Anything means everything. Moving space-time, genocide. All for the sake of a woman they love. But they haven't_ done _anything this time. Martel is alive. Period. And Yuan will forever be the man who still wears his wedding ring every day. Never takes it off. And that makes Kratos' decision for him, really)_

* * *

Kratos heard Yuan before he saw him. Not that Yuan was being loud, but in an otherwise silent world, Yuan's breathing, his footsteps, were gongs ringing through the air. He met his friend on the lower levels, keeping one ear tuned to the infirmary where Martel was. She slept little; Kratos understood. She'd been sleeping for four thousand years. She was tired of sleeping.

"What's going on, Kratos?" Yuan hadn't been expecting a message from Derris-Kharlan, of all places.

"You're going to want to sit down."

Yuan crossed his arms. "You're stalling." They weren't as close as they had been in their youth, but he still knew the other man almost as well as he knew himself.

He was right, Kratos thought. "…Martel is alive."

He caught the reflexive clench of Yuan's left hand, where the ring still glinted. "That Spirit isn't Martel, Kratos."

"I know she isn't." The Spirit of the New Tree, while she looked an awful lot like her, was wrong in the details. No one else but two of them could recognize the differences. "I'm talking about our Martel. She's alive."

Pain flashed in blue-green eyes. _(Has Kratos finally broken as well? Broken as far as Mithos had?)_ "Martel is _dead_ , Kratos. She can't come back."

"I'm not talking about bringing her back. I'm saying—she's here. Alive and—not well, but she's as healthy as can be expected."

Yuan searched Kratos for the lie, for the insanity that he could recognize so well. He'd seen it in the mirror for long centuries. But he couldn't find it. Kratos was, as ever, a steady touchstone. _(Kratos has only ever broken twice, in their long long lives. Each time for love. This time, there is still Kratos' strength backing his words, his sanity firmly rooted)_

"You've always been really bad at jokes, Kratos, but—" It was a feeble attempt at grappling with the idea. Martel was dead. His wife had been dead for four thousand odd years.

"Will you follow me?"

 _(Hasn't he always?)_ Yuan's voice wouldn't work, but they hadn't always needed words to communicate. He followed Kratos up the stairs—the man had always hated his wings, from the beginning. Yuan and Mithos were the ones who could take any kind of joy, distant as it was, in flying—to the infirmary.

Twenty paces from the door, his feet stopped moving. _(If he turns back now, he can forget this. Can chalk it up to madness. Kratos is going mad, here in Derris-Kharlan, that's all. But there is an old hope flickering in his chest. She's alive? Can he really have her back?)_

Kratos turned back, stopping two steps away from him, patient as ever.

Yuan didn't remember choosing to step forward. Didn't remember walking those twenty paces of space. The next thing he knew, he was in the doorway of the infirmary and his breath was gone.

_(It's her. Absolutely and unequivocally. It's her down to the scar across her eyebrow, down to the old burn on her left forearm. It's her eyes, a mixture of green and hazel that he has never forgotten)_

And there was no recognition in those eyes. None at all.

"Martel?" he tried.

She blinked at him, a long, slow movement. She was so thin… "Do I know you?"

* * *

Yuan shoved Kratos up against a wall, hands fisted in his shirt, knuckles bruising his collarbone; rage like he hadn't known for so long was swelling inside him. "You son of a whoring bitch. Why didn't you tell me?"

Kratos didn't tense, didn't try to fight. It didn't help Yuan's mood. "If I had told you, would you have gone?"

_(Kratos is manipulative enough to do it, but that's not why and Yuan knows it. Kratos is a coward. He won't be responsible for possibly breaking him)_

"She's not who she was, Kratos. It—" Yuan choked on the thought.

It would be kinder to kill her.

Yuan's grip loosened and Kratos slid down until his feet touched the ground. He didn't meet Yuan's eyes for this. "We've done a lot of terrible things, you and I, but neither of us is capable of that."

The rage drained away, leaving Yuan horribly hollow. He wasn't strong enough for this. He'd thought he was, but Martel had always been his weak point. "I can't do this, Kratos." To have his Martel back, but for her not to know him was almost worse than losing her the first time. He'd been trying to reconcile the idea of the Spirit, of the way its face was so close to Martel's that it _hurt_ to look and he'd barely been able to bear _that_. "Wait…the Spirit."

"What about her?"

"What did she say?" Yuan's gripped Kratos' arms, almost to the point of pain. "When she first appeared? What did she tell us she was?"

"Mana. The Giant Tree…"

"And a symbol of the lives sacrificed to the Great Seed. She said that Martel was one of many souls inside her."

Kratos caught on. "What if the soul holds the memories?"

"Exactly. The brain holds information. Martel can still remember how to speak. She's not a blank slate. But her soul went to the Cruxis Crystal. It's not tethered to her body."

"So you're saying that the Spirit can tether it?"

"She apparently already did. To Tabatha's body. Her soul and who knows how many others. The difference is that the other souls don't have a body to return to. Martel's was kept here. There has to be a way to transfer it back and tether it back to her body."

"And that would bring her memories back."

"Exactly."

Kratos nodded. "I'll stay." Yuan blinked in confusion, trying to find the train of thought. "I was planning on leaving, with Derris-Kharlan. To find all the Exspheres. But I'll stay until we figure this out."

"I'll go talk to the Spirit. See if she knows anything." Yuan read the look on Kratos' face. "No. I can't…stay here, right now. I need to absorb it all."

"Alright. But she needs real medical attention. More than what we know. Can you get Professor Sage on your way back?"

Yuan nodded. They could do battlefield wounds, end of life things, but a slow healing, with this much damage? Of the two of them, Kratos had the most experience. He'd helped get Anna back on her feet, back to her strength. Yuan had helped some of his Renegades, but most hadn't been nearly this bad off and he'd only been there for part of it.

"Anything else on the grocery list? Milk? Eggs?"

_(It's a sad attempt at a joke because that's Yuan's defense mechanism. One of many. But it gets a snort out of Kratos, so it's a start)_

* * *

The Spirit didn't show surprise at his explanation. She may have had the memories, but her body didn't know the physical reactions for any of the emotions yet. Not really.

"I can't give up the memories."

"It's only hers. Only Martel's. There are—I'm going to go with _hundreds_ of thousands—of souls inside you. She's one person." One person whose death had rocked the world, had tilted the dimension of space and time on its head.

"I understand. I am not unwilling to do it, but I am incapable of it at the present time." Her voice was gentle, with a tone he recognized as Martel's, but the pitch was wrong and her words weren't colored with an accent.

"Can you elaborate?"

"I am a young Spirit and my power comes from memories. The memories of your Martel are the strongest there are. Four millennia of memories—yours, Kratos', Mithos' and Origin's—four millennia of remembering her, every day." Yuan hadn't even considered Origin. The Yggdrasills had been beloved by him. "Almost everyone else inside me, everyone who loved them are gone. There aren't memories _left_ to power them and if they are, they aren't strong enough to offset yours. If I was to give you Martel's memories, the Tree would die, for I wouldn't have any power to help it."

 _(For a brief, violent moment, Yuan doesn't care. He doesn't care about the Tree, about the world as long as he can have Martel back. But he shoves it down, locks it away because he isn't Mithos. Won't become Mithos)_ "Can you give me an estimate of how long it would be until you're strong enough?"

"It could be a year or longer," the Spirit admitted. "People need to care for the Tree, to make memories in this new world powered by the Tree."

"Memories are being made every day."

"Insignificant ones."

"Some of the things we remembered of Martel were insignificant." Her smile, the way she liked her tea. Little things.

"No. They used to be," she corrected. "But after she was gone, you treasured them. You _made_ them important." She stepped towards him, grass growing and flowers blossoming beneath her feet. Her expression was gentle—and yes, that was Martel's expression. Yuan could see it, even if it wasn't her face—when she said, "People love this Tree. The memories will happen. When they do, I will contact you."

Yuan nodded. "Thank you."

* * *

Iselia was a town that didn't change very much. The last time Yuan had been through here was more than fourteen years ago, to visit Kratos and Anna. Their home had been out in the forest, further up the mountain and away from the ranch than Dirk's. Iselia still smelled of its orchards and farmland, the incense from the Martel Temple if the wind blew and underneath all that, the smell of ash. Forcystus had told Yuan how Iselia burned; the town had not yet fully recovered.

Yuan went after dusk, so as not to be questioned by the guards. He didn't feel like dealing with anyone unnecessarily.

Raine Sage opened her door in old pajama pants and a large nightshirt. Her silver hair was disheveled and she glared, slightly bleary, at him when she recognized who it was at her door. "What is it?"

"Ms. Sage, I have a rather important matter I need to discuss with you. Inside, if you please."

She crossed her arms. "I'm not about to be ordered inside my own home, Yuan."

The woman could be incredibly stubborn. Not that his manners were the best either; he hadn't exactly been invited to many dinner parties in four thousand years. "…May I discuss something with you in private, please?"

"By all means." Raine stepped aside to allow him in. "Although, I thought you were done with 'important matters'. Weren't you going to assist the new Spirit?"

"Something has come up." Her house was a small one. Enough space for two beds, a desk shoved into the corner, a stove and a few overstuffed bookshelves. "I'm in need of your medical expertise."

"You know my experience with healing. How bad is the wound that you need me to do it and you can't?" While she'd never seen him heal, he'd saved Kratos with a transfer of mana. Healing was a similar process, just not nearly so direct. And he'd survived the Kharlan War; he had to have some knowledge of healing artes to have done that.

"It's not a wound. I could heal that. But you know nutrition, enhancing spells. Do you have any knowledge of physical therapy?"

"Physi—what are you talking about?"

Yuan tried to think of how best to explain it. "The patient in question has been in a coma for a long time. Her muscles are badly atrophied. I can help, but it would be best for a medical professional to oversee her recovery."

"There are far more qualified doctors in the world than I." Her eyes—pale blue, elf blue—glinted in understanding. "Which means that you need to keep this a secret. What aren't you telling me?"

"I need to know if you'll help first."

Raine studied him. Yuan allowed the scrutiny; she wouldn't see anything he didn't want her to see. "…Yes. I'll help."

Yuan nodded. "We leave tomorrow morning. I'll explain then."

* * *

"Who is this mystery patient?" Raine asked when he came to her in the morning. There was badly burnt toast in one hand, her staff in the other.

"Good morning to you too," he grumbled, stepping inside. His nose wrinkled at the burnt smell still coming from the stove.

"You're hardly one to comment on my manners."

"I have another question."

"Hm?"

"Would you prefer to go to our destination via wings or Rheaird?"

Her eyes travelled behind him to see his wings. The sunlight shining through them made exotic shadows play along the floor, almost like a stained glass window. "Where exactly are we going?"

"The Tower."

"The Tower is gone. It fell, crumbled. There's nothing left."

"There are ruins left," Yuan corrected. "And I would think that you, of all people, would appreciate the importance of them."

"A Rheaird. I'll take my Rheaird." They'd each kept theirs, in wing packs that the Research Academy had given them.

Yuan nodded; he'd expected that answer. "I'll see you there." Rheairds were fast, but he was faster.

He was waiting for her when she landed, fiddling with some wires. He'd gotten good at magitechnology. It had taken him years of taking things apart and figuring out what did what to get as good as he was; there had been no teachers back then. The humans hadn't wanted to share their knowledge of magitechnology with a half-breed. So Yuan had just taken it. Story of his life, really.

Raine stepped carefully through the debris. Yuan had been helping clear the rubble away, as had Lloyd and the others, to give the Tree room to breathe and grow, but it was a slow process. "Who is out here?"

"Currently? Only the Spirit." Yuan stood from where he'd been sitting on a pile of rubble, tucking the wires in his pocket. It was a new habit of his; it kept his hands busy. There had been quite a few fishermen in the Renegades; they'd taught him how to bait a lure and tie their sailors' knots. The habit had come from them; they'd kept a small length of rope in their pockets, for those long nights on watch or travelling. "We are going to Derris-Kharlan."

"Excuse me?"

"The teleporter wasn't damaged _too_ terribly." As in, completely demolished. "I managed to get it up and running."

"Why would you? Why would anyone go back up there?"

Yuan's eyes hardened. Mithos was mad, no doubt about that, but at the end of the day, they'd been close friends once. Family, even. _(His brother-in-law)_ "You may not think that Mithos deserves a memorial, but Kratos and I do." They'd originally gone back up to find something to mark what would be an empty grave.

"The only beings on Derris-Kharlan were angels. Who did you find in a coma?" Even as she questioned him, Raine followed him. He and Kratos hadn't needed to clear any debris except to unearth the teleporter, so it was harder going for her.

"Ready?" Yuan asked, standing on the teleporter.

Raine didn't get a chance to respond. She blinked and she was in Welgaia, in Mithos' castle. Yuan led her up the stairs and she both was and wasn't surprised to see Kratos coming to greet them. He must have heard them arrive. His sword wasn't at his waist, but there was a knife on his belt and another in his boot. Even here, he refused to go unarmed. _(The only place he forever went entirely unarmed had been that house with Anna. But he had always been so paranoid, listening constantly for the enemy…)_

Kratos inclined his head in greeting. "Professor Sage."

"Where is this mystery patient?"

"She's just through this door." The door that Kratos stood in front of him in a stance that Raine had seen Lloyd take. Feet apart, one hand at his waist, where his sword would hang, body not tense, but prepared. A protective stance. _(The only person that she can think of that Kratos would adopt that stance for is back on solid ground, getting ready to travel for the Exspheres. And Yuan is also defensive. So who is this person?)_

Raine thought about asking what she was about to walk into that had these two men—angels—on such an edge, but she strode past Kratos into the room. The woman lying on the cot was alert and attentive, but entirely too thin. Pale green hair had grown long enough to pool beside her and her ears were the triangular shape of a half-elf. Her high cheekbones stood out in sharp relief in that face. She looked like a skeletal Tabatha.

Or Tabatha looked like her. Tabatha was _created_ to look like her.

But that was impossible. Martel Yggdrasill was dead, had been dead for four thousand years.

It was the only option that fit. The protectiveness of Kratos and Yuan. The secrecy. Her appearance and condition.

Raine whirled around to face the other two; they didn't flinch in the face of her anger like everyone else did. "You two have been keeping her alive? What did we do it all for then?!"

Before Raine could really get the rant going, a soft, hoarse voice spoke up. She couldn't understand more than a few words and the few words she could understand were from languages she had never heard spoken, only written. Because they were _dead_ languages.

Yuan moved forward automatically because Martel was trying to push herself up, fire sparked in her eyes to tell Raine off because these men had cared for her and who was she to condemn them? She and Raine didn't have to understand each other to get the gist of what they were saying.

"It's fine," he told her, the language of their childhood coming haltingly to his mind and rusty to his tongue. "Don't overstress yourself." To Raine, he said, "We can discuss this afterwards. Can you help her?"

The patient. Raine had to think of the patient. "I'll see what I can do."

Yuan and Kratos remained in the room through the examination, translating and helping Martel to sit up or move to the desired position. By the end of it, Raine had a mental note of things to find in the Sybak libraries, things to study or brush up on.

"She's very bad off," Raine told them when she was done. "It will take months of physical therapy before she can even think of walking normally."

"Is that factoring in whatever healing you can?"

"My healing isn't for things like this. It can't build people back up. It can strengthen and I can do that to help her along, but most of it will have to come naturally. The broth is a good place to start until she can start handling solid food. I'll do more research, consult with a few people on various therapies, but we can get her back on her feet. The muscles have to be conditioned, lots of calcium and vitamins for her bone density, proteins."

"Tell us what needs to be done and we'll do whatever we can," said Yuan. Kratos nodded in agreement after he finished translating for Martel.

_(Raine has no doubts about that. These two are men who broke the world apart for this woman)_

* * *

"She doesn't remember a thing?" Raine repeated quietly over dinner of bread and stew. Kratos' culinary skills were basic, but pretty decent.

"No. As you can see, she's able to create new memories. But she has no idea who we were."

"So she doesn't know about Mithos?"

"No."

"And the Spirit could have be the key to getting her memories back. And here I thought we were done with this sort of thing."

Yuan twisted his lips into a bitter approximation of a smile. "When you live as long as we have, you learn that you're never done."

* * *

_Sure as the dawn brings the sunrise_   
_We've an unshakeable bond_   
_Destined to last for a lifetime and beyond_

* * *

Raine slept in one of the dozens of rooms on the same floor as the infirmary. The only beds were Yuan and Kratos'. Yuan offered his room—he would be sleeping in the infirmary, but Raine refused, claiming a room with a couch and several dozen books on its shelves. She did take the offered blankets, though. It was chilly, up here.

Yuan and Kratos didn't really feel the cold. It was there, but it was like feeling through a glove; distant and not quite there. Martel was tucked with plenty of thick blankets; she didn't have any body fat to help her keep warm. Yuan had his own spot in the infirmary now; he had a chair that he'd angled perfectly against one of the cabinets so if he slouched, he could put his feet up and sleep rather comfortably.

_(He can't leave her alone. He's afraid that if no one's in the room with her—and even then, Kratos is the only one he absolutely trusts right now, which is a strange twist after all they'd done to and for each other—that she'll disappear, that all this will have been some cruel dream)_

"Any luck with my memories?" Martel asked. Yuan relished in the sound of her voice, hoarse as it was, in the measure of her words and the traces of Heimdall still in her accent.

"From my understanding, it could be a year or more until you can get them back."

"Oh." Martel studied her hands, skeletally thin and rough at the palms. "…I suppose I just have to make new ones, then."

It was so like her. An optimist, but a realistic one.

* * *

They would take turns cooking, he and Kratos. They kept Raine far from the single kitchen; Yuan had heard enough horror stories—some from Kratos, which was saying something—to know that that was a horrible idea. Martel asked to join them much of the time and they would carry her to the kitchen. They dragged a loveseat into the kitchen as well, so that she would have a place where she could sit or lay comfortably, as she couldn't sit on the stools in the kitchen without pitching over.

"Raine," Martel began. Her voice was stronger these days, even though it would get rough if she talked for more than ten minutes. "Pass…the salt?"

She'd been learning the modern tongue, connecting the pieces with Raine. The Professor was astounded by her progress; Martel understood pretty well, as long as no one spoke too fast and she was getting past her main problem, which was pronunciation. She was a quick learner, quicker even than Genis.

_(When she explains this to Kratos and Yuan, they both share a look and Yuan takes a sip of his drink to hide the smirk. Raine had known how brilliant Mithos was, but she had never thought that Martel had been—is—very much the same. Her genius is subtler, but absolutely there. She picks up languages and spells easily and is excellent with history and science)_

* * *

They helped bathe her, Yuan more than Kratos. It was strange, but being able to _do_ something like this was kind of comforting. Martel didn't flinch from her nudity. She used to, back in the beginning. Yuan thought she would do it again because that's where they were. Back at the beginning. Except it's not.

_(He forces himself to ignore the white scar on her abdomen and back. In the same place. A through and through. Large enough to be a killing blow. It's the only scar on her body that he doesn't know)_

"All this hair is kind of a hassle, huh?" she laughed one day as he combed the knots from it. Her laughter wasn't the silvery sound it used to be. It sounded scratchy sometimes, off-pitch.

"I'm kind of used to it," he told her. His hair still grew, but it grew at such a slow pace that he hardly noticed.

He heard the grin in her voice. "I'm sure. You ever think of cutting it shorter?"

Yuan went quiet for a moment, letting his hands go through the motions. Knots and tangles and this specific shade of pale green. There'd been a geneticist at some point who'd had a theory about half-elves, about how, the closer the color of their hair and eyes was to silver and blue, the more elven blood and therefore genes, they had inherited. It was a decent theory; it made sense in some cases, but there was no way to one hundred percent prove it.

Mithos had studied that geneticist though. When he was trying to figure out how to breed a mana signature through the Chosen line. It was how someone who's mostly human blood like Colette got elf-blue eyes. Like Zelos did too.

"Once or twice. Never really went through with it." He'd started keeping his hair long because it would cover his ears, triangular as they were and a dead giveaway. With how dirty he'd been on the road with Kratos, the blue hadn't even really shown through most of the time. "Why, do you want to cut it?"

"I think so. It would make things easier, for sure."

It would take weeks before Yuan got used to seeing her with the ends of her hair brushing her chin.

* * *

"Raine?"

"Professor Sage?"

Kratos and Yuan were surprised it took this long, honestly. Lloyd, Genis and Colette's voices echoed through the halls. Yuan was the one to step out. To their credit, the only suspicious one was Genis, who narrowed his eyes at him.

"Yuan?"

Before they could ask anything, the Professor came out, pushing her hair from her face, staff in one hand. She'd been researching ways to twist preservation and enhancement spells for a body. So far, the experiments had been pretty successful with no horrible failures.

"What are you three doing here?"

"My question exactly," Yuan muttered.

"You've been gone more than usual, Raine." Genis had the problem that most half-elves had while growing up. He may have been—what, twelve? Thirteen?—but his body was still that of a ten year old's while his mind developed quicker. Half-elves usually had a plateau of stasis in between growth spurts. "We were worried."

"But what're you doing up here, Professor?" Colette asked. _(She's still glowing with hope and optimism, still so trusting, but there are nightmares in her head and within these walls that makes her glance in the corners warily)_

Yuan and Kratos exchanged a look. The three were here; it wasn't like they wouldn't find out. Kratos stepped forward, out of the shadows. To most, it was surprising how easily Kratos could make himself unnoticeable, could make eyes pass right over him like he was invisible. Yuan still remembered him flinching from a raised hand and he'd never been surprised about it. Invisibility was how Kratos had survived for a decade before the two of them met and it was a skill he'd never lost.

"We asked her to help us," he said. "We needed a Healer."

"D—Kratos. You're here too?" Yuan knew it hurt Kratos to hear the almost title pass Lloyd's lips. Lloyd, who had Anna's kindness and nose.

"Why do you two need a Healer?" Genis knew how to ask the right questions. Probably learned that from his sister.

Raine glanced at the two of them for approval—Martel may have been her secret too, but they were the ones who loved her—before telling her former students to come upstairs. Lloyd and Colette's eyes went wide at the sight of Martel in her cot. It took Genis another minute to figure it out.

They introduced themselves dimly, unable to take their eyes off her. After they were out in another room and Kratos and Yuan explained, Lloyd was the first to find his voice.

"So…that's actually Mithos' sister?"

"Yes."

"But then—who's the Spirit? She said she had Martel inside her."

"The Spirit could just have her memories," Genis thought aloud. His eyes—a little more gray than blue—went sharp. "Because she doesn't remember anything, does she?"

The boy would be a terror when he grew into himself. "No," Kratos replied. "She doesn't."

"So you're—what, rehabilitating her?"

"Yes, we are. It's all we can do, until we figure out how to get her memories back."

Kratos was the one who noticed the lack of one person's voice. "Nothing to say, Chosen?"

She looked up from her shoes. "There's no Chosen anymore." She had some steel in her backbone; both seraphim had seen it, experienced it. "And—I want to help. It has to be scary, not being able to remember."

It surprised Yuan to hear Kratos say, "I'm sure she'd appreciate the company."

_(He's not wrong, but it's closer to the Kratos from Yuan's memories growing up than the shell of the man he's grown accustomed to)_

Lloyd, Genis and Colette stayed for a few hours that day before going home to rest as well as let the others know about Martel. The seraphim had to resign themselves to the fact that it would get much less peaceful.

* * *

It took effort for Martel to even sit up on her own, but she grew stronger by the day, pushing herself to her limits. The spoon still shook when she held it, but her grip was firm. Standing was a more difficult thing and she couldn't hold herself up just yet.

Martel was a quick learner, not only in languages, but in technology too. She'd learned how to navigate the screens and machines fairly well, but her typing was still awkward.

"So Lloyd is your son?" Martel began one day, not looking at Kratos, but keeping her eyes on the book in her lap.

It was Kratos' turn for dinner. Martel had been working her way up to more solid food. Rice mixed with the stew was possible now, along with very small pieces of meat and soft vegetables. It was like a baby all over again. Neither he nor Anna had known anything about raising a child; they'd had to ask for help from one of the women in Izlood—the village they were closest to at the time—for advice on when Lloyd could have solid food.

_(These days, he can hear Anna sometimes. Particularly at times like this, when he's cooking. He can see her with her hair growing out again from the almost shaved point it had been at the ranch, bangs tucked behind her ears, bouncing Lloyd in her arms. He'd taught her to cook; she'd gotten the hang of it after a few rather spectacular accidents with the stove. He hears her laughter as she would dance away from him; he'd burnt dinner more than once because Anna had been a mischievous imp when she wanted to be)_

"Kratos?"

"Yes, he is."

Her eyes were on him now, he could feel them. "You don't act like it. Neither of you do. The only reason I know is because he told me."

"It's…complicated."

Kratos heard the smile in her voice. "Story of our lives?"

"You have no idea."

* * *

_You're my backbone, you're my cornerstone_   
_You're my crutch when my legs stop moving_   
_You're my head start, you're my rugged heart_   
_You're the pulse that I've always needed_

* * *

Yuan jerked awake at the scream, his every instinct on red alert.

Martel was thrashing on the bed, her voice ripping itself from her throat. He didn't think; his arms moved to go around her, to try to soothe her to sleep like he had so long ago because nightmares weren't anything new to them _("I can see them, Yuan." Her eyes had been so hollow and bruised. "All those faces…they're_ kids _, Yuan. They shouldn't be fighting.")_ but Martel didn't know him anymore. Her eyes snapped open, but there was no recognition and a spell lashed out at him before he could think to defend himself.

Kratos stormed into the room, sword in hand. He dropped it as soon as Martel's eyes were on him. She was shaking, terrified. "I-I didn't mean it," she said, voice rough. "I don't even know what I did."

Kratos followed her eyes to Yuan, who was crumpled against a wall, curled into himself, gasping for breath. He moved to Yuan's side, the half-elf's eyes glassy with pain. He saw the wound, a deep burn that spanned his chest. Light spells could be nasty pieces of work and Martel had been a master.

He heard Raine come into the room and kneel beside him. "Do you need my help for anything?" Kratos asked her. She'd healed worse, he knew.

Raine shook her head. "Take care of Martel. I can't move him, so I think it's best you get her out of here."

Kratos nodded and moved away. He approached Martel slowly, careful to keep his hands within her line of sight. Her eyes tore away from Yuan to look back at him.

"Do you recognize me?" he asked. Yuan should have known better than to approach a soldier in the middle of a nightmare like that.

Martel nodded. "Kratos."

"Let's get out of here. Okay?" He waited for her to nod again before lifting her carefully. One of her arms came around his neck to steady herself. He took her to the bedroom that Yuan hardly used, setting her down on the bed.

"Kratos," she said. "That was magic, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Why do I know magic? Especially magic like _that_?" Martel looked sick at the thought of hurting people. That hadn't changed either. She'd hated using magic for violence; not she'd never done it because Martel was protective and could be vicious if she was defending someone.

Kratos wondered how to phrase it. He leaned on the nightstand. "…We were in a war, once. A long time ago. We were soldiers."

"…I've killed people, haven't I?"

"Yes. But," he couldn't stop himself from adding. "You saved more people than you killed. You were a Healer."

"That doesn't excuse the killing."

"No. No, it doesn't." His hands clenched together. "It was a war. Kill or be killed. You made a choice, like every soldier does."

Her eyes narrowed at him. "You don't like killing people either, do you?"

"No, I never did." He hadn't even wanted to be a soldier, but the war had been unavoidable. Even Yuan had enjoyed the fighting, had enjoyed some of the kills, even if it had made him sick. Some people deserved it, he said, and he wasn't afraid to be the one passing the judgment.

"I almost killed him."

Kratos snorted a little, without meaning to. "To be honest, it takes a lot more than that to kill him." Not that the wound hadn't been bad—it absolutely had been. The damage was extensive, more than most people could manage on angels, particularly without an Exsphere. "It'll take some time to heal, most likely, but he'll be on his feet before you know it."

"You have a lot of faith in him."

"…he's my best friend." Even after everything, that statement still held true. It had been a long time since Kratos had said it aloud.

Martel made a sound of acknowledgment, but didn't press anymore. Her eyes were on the wall that separated this room, large as it was, to the infirmary, as though she were trying to see through it.

Kratos took her hand. "I promise, he'll be fine. He's in good hands."

* * *

Kratos waited for Raine just outside the infirmary. She didn't seem surprised to see him.

"He'll survive," she assured him. "He's resting now. It took a lot of mana to get him to a stable place. Though he was a better patient than I thought he'd be."

"He learned quickly to not fight Healers." Martel had been quick to shove him back into his seat if he'd started to get up before she'd released him and had threatened to tie him to the bed if it became necessary. Yuan had just smirked a little and said he liked the sound of that. His next round of stitches had been more painful than necessary, with a smirk from her that matched his. "But give it a few hours. He'll be rebelling soon enough. He can't stand infirmaries."

"I haven't seen damage like that since we fought Luna and Aska," Raine said, a little quieter. "Even Mithos' spells weren't that strong."

"Mithos was a mage in all the elements. He was strong in all of them, but Martel was a master of light magic. I'm sure if you applied yourself, you could be that strong one day too."

Raine shook her head. "No. I have no illusions about my skill. I'm a very good Healer and a better than average light mage, but Martel's level of skill and her power are beyond me."

"The elves used to have a theory—they still might have it. I'm not sure—but the theory went that on a child's birthday, literally the day they're born, a Spirit watches over them, usually dependent on the weather and the position of the stars of that day. According to tradition, Martel and Mithos were both born underneath Luna and Aska. Assuming that theory is correct, it could account for their strength."

"You don't believe that." Raine didn't make it a question.

"I think that, once, it might have applied. Not anymore."

_(Raine wonders, vaguely, what would have happened if it had been Mithos who died that day all those millennia ago, not Martel. Would Martel have gone mad from the loss of the brother she'd loved and raised? Would she have used all of this terrifying intelligence and power to try and bring him back?)_

* * *

"How is he?" Martel asked quietly as Raine measured her, a weekly tradition to make sure she was progressing well. Weighing was a slightly harder thing, as Martel wasn't strong enough to stand on her own yet. "Yuan, I mean."

Raine turned to take down the notes of the measurements. Muscle and fat were coming back well; flexibility was slower, but still recovering at a good rate. "He'll be alright. The burns were third degree, so there was a lot of tissue damage, but it's nothing I haven't healed before." It had taken her a little while, to figure out how damage from light magic was different from fire. It was the difference between a laser and an open flame. The damage from light magic was much more pointed, much more direct.

"It worries you. That I can do that."

Raine looked at Martel in the mirror _(She has been uncomfortable with mirrors ever since Mithos' trap, ever since the Derris Emblem. She can't stop seeing her mother in place of her own reflection…)_. Those eyes were intent and sharp and Raine was reminded very suddenly of Mithos. Not Mithos, the little lost boy from Ozette, not the mask and not when he was broken and lashing out. It was Mithos in the quiet moments, up in Derris Kharlan, when he was perfectly logical and relatively sane, where all that intelligence shone through. It was the first real resemblance to Mithos that Raine had noticed in Martel.

"Honestly? Yes. It takes a very powerful mage to cast magic to that extent."

Martel tossed her head to move stray bangs from her eyes. "Kratos said I was a soldier. That the three of us were soldiers."

Raine was about to respond, but she realized she didn't really have something to say. It was easy for her to picture Kratos and Yuan as soldiers. Even Mithos, however much the idea of child soldiers disturbed her. But Martel? The false goddess? The Healer? Her patient? It was more difficult to see that in her mind. Having seen the damage she was capable of was proof; Martel might not have preferred to fight, or liked to, but she had been just as dangerous as her husband, brother and friend were.

"You were. Some things don't go away just because you lose your memory."

Martel's eyes fell to her hands on the blankets. "…I think killing is something I'm glad I forgot."

_(She's so kind. So sympathetic. Raine wonders how this woman survived a war, how she impressed Yuan, how she is worth destroying a world for…)_

* * *

It took Yuan two weeks to heal fully and that was with extensive healing sessions with Raine or sometimes Kratos, when Raine was too tired from tending to Martel as well. Kratos' healing wasn't as strong, but he could at least help the natural healing along.

At the end of the first week, Yuan went to stand by Martel's bed. He tried not to sit too much; it folded and cracked the skin and healing tissue in rather painful ways. She locked eyes with him. "Show me?"

Yuan considered arguing, but decided against it. He simply unbuttoned his shirt, wincing a little as he allowed it to slip off his shoulders and hang it on a bedpost. He stood near enough to her that she could touch him, if she wanted. Her eyes studied the damage and to her credit, she didn't flinch away. It wasn't a pretty sight; a half-healed mess of scar tissue that was still rather raw around the edges, spanning the length of his chest.

Her hand reached out as if to touch, but stopped an inch away from his skin. "Go ahead," Yuan told her quietly.

Martel's touch was feather-light, hardly there as it traced over the ridges and dips of scar tissue. "I'm sorry," she said.

"It was my fault. I should've known better than to try and wake you from a nightmare like that." He was quiet for a moment before asking, "…do you remember what you were dreaming about?"

She shook her head. "Just…impressions, mostly. Nothing really solid." _(One thing stuck. A little blonde boy with madness in his smile and grief in his eyes. She had watched his visage shatter in front of her eyes, watched him break more and more until she can't recognize it anymore, until it disappears into the rest of the impressions)_

Her eyes caught on something. He followed her gaze to the fading numbers inked on his left forearm. "What are those?"

"Just a number."

"Why are they on you?" Her brow was furrowed, like she was trying to figure something out.

"A brand. I was a slave."

"A slave?" Martel repeated. Her face cleared a little, still serious. "And your slavers? Are they dead."

"Yes." He'd killed them, before the war ended. With his own hands. After he'd killed their wives.

Yuan refused to feel guilty about it.

* * *

Seeing Colette with Martel was…strange. Like the world had shifted two inches to the left. Colette could knit, so she would bring spools of thread and her needles and she would sit and work on her knitting, all the while talking. It wasn't usually important things; little things, everyday details. What the weather was like today, the gossip from Iselia.

Martel laughed and conversed with her, ever curious. Sometimes, she would stumble on her words and ask Yuan—who was in the room ninety percent of the time—for the translation. It wasn't surprising to Yuan that the two got along.

He was walking Colette out—his manners were getting better, Raine commented once—and she said, "…You still love her very much, don't you?"

He glanced over at her. "What?"

Colette didn't pretend that he hadn't heard or understood the question. "I see the way you look at her."

Yuan was not about to go talking about his feelings, of all things, to this girl, of all people. "Enjoy your trip to Meltokio, Chosen."

* * *

It took six months before Martel could stand on her own. Not for very long and her balance was still a little off, but she grinned triumphantly at Yuan when he walked in to see her. She couldn't walk yet, but Regal brought her a wheelchair from one of the hospitals in Altamira. Her arms were strong enough now that she could push herself, somewhat. Yuan usually volunteered to push her around anyway.

"I want to see outside," Martel told him. "I think I'll go crazy staring at these walls."

Yuan wheeled her down to the teleportation circle inscribed on the floor. His teleportation magic was strong, but without the help of the circle to concentrate and add to his mana, he couldn't make the trip from Derris Kharlan to the ground.

Much of the rubble had been cleared away, so the path was clear. No longer was the air as full of dust and ash as it had been after the Tower fell. The plants that Colette and Lloyd had been planting were growing well, though not yet flowered. There were trails of grass and blossoms in singular lines going back and forth in seemingly random patterns; the Spirit's wandering, Yuan would imagine.

Martel breathed deep, tilting her face into the sun. She opened her eyes and they shone green in the sunlight, the brown hardly visible. _(The sight takes his breath away. She is as lovely now as he remembers her. She comes alive, outside, under the open sky and sun. She always has)_

She felt his eyes on her and she turned to look at him. The way he looked at her could be daunting, like she was the center of his universe. "What is it?"

"It's just…nice to see you outside again."

"Was I outside a lot before?"

His lips tilted into a faint, fond smile. "Whenever you could."

Martel glanced at the ground and back up at him. "Get me down?"

Yuan obliged, lifting her easily. She was getting back to a healthy weight, though she wasn't quite there yet. _(He had been a soldier—they_ all _had been apparently—but Yuan is always incredibly gentle with her. Not like she'll break, but like she's a mirage, some illusion that'll shatter at the first touch)_

The ground was soft, slightly damp and the grass brushed her elbows when she sat up. The scent of earth and some kind of flower was all around her. Yuan plopped himself down beside her, stretching out long legs. Kratos had been right; Yuan had healed perfectly well, moving easily and showing no discomfort in the slightest.

Martel looked out at the wide expanse of sky, at the nearby mountains and the land that sloped downwards from where they were. "…you know, sometimes, I don't think I want my memories back."

He was looking at her again, like he always did. "Why?"

"Because…I'm happy. I like how I'm living now, with you two and everyone." Even without her memories, Martel could see the divide between Kratos-and-Yuan and the rest of the group. "And I'm afraid that…if I remember, things'll change. And I kind of don't want them to."

Yuan hummed in understanding, drawing his knees up so he could prop his elbows on them. "Well, it's your decision really. We won't stop you. But if it's because of the relationship with Lloyd and the others, I don't think it'll change much. They didn't know you. Before."

"But you and Kratos did. I see the way you two look at me. It hurts you that I don't remember."

 _(She's always been so intuitive, so observant. Yuan had forgotten what that's like)_ "You know we don't blame you for that, right? It's not your fault."

"You're avoiding my point."

Yuan let out a puff of air in place of a laugh. Martel was stubborn like that, always getting to the heart of the matter. No beating around the bush, as Yuan liked to do. "…yes. It hurts us that you don't remember. We love you. But if you don't want your memories back, it's _your_ decision and _because_ we love you, we'll support you."

"Even if it hurts you?"

"Yes. Even then." Because living without her had been so much worse.

* * *

"Heads up!" Lloyd called a split second before Noishe bounded into the room.

Martel and Raine jumped at his entrance and just stared as Noishe lay his big head on the bed by Martel's hand. Lloyd slid into the room two minutes later.

"Sorry, I couldn't stop him." Lloyd grinned apologetically at the Professor and Martel and it turned a little thoughtful as he saw how comfortable Noishe was. He'd thought the protozoan was so excited because of Kratos, but he'd completely bypassed his former owner, who was restocking some of the cabinets, and gone straight to Martel. "And he usually doesn't like strangers."

Martel reached out a hand in invitation to sniff. Noishe didn't and just licked it before nudging his nose into her palm. She laughed and scratched obligingly behind his large ears, the fluffy tail thumping happily against the ground. "He's a sweetheart. What's his name?"

"Noishe," Raine answered. "And he shouldn't be here. Your immune system is still not completely back and he could have been exposed to hundreds of—"

"It's alright," Kratos interrupted, closing the cabinet and setting the now empty box aside. He leaned against the counter. "Ordinarily, you'd be correct, but protozoans are like unicorns; they don't get sick easily. Their blood used to be used for medicine, in fact. Noishe is probably the safest to be around Martel right now."

Noishe barked once, in agreement. Satisfied with his petting—and his observation. Kratos had spotted how he was checking Martel for injuries as she interacted with him—the protozoan moved away from the bed, sitting at Kratos' side, nearest the door. Protozoans had the most powerful protective instincts in the world and Noishe might have a fear of monsters now, but that wouldn't deter him much.

"We'll get out of your way, Professor," Kratos said. "That means you too, Lloyd."

"Did I come at a bad time?"

"A weekly checkup. It shouldn't take too long." Kratos held the door open for Lloyd.

"Oh, okay. Noishe! You can't stay in there!"

"He won't move for a while." Kratos said, closing the door behind him. "Not until he gets used to Martel again."

"Aga—Oh." Noishe wasn't comfortable around strangers. Ever. But it was easy for Lloyd to forget, sometimes, that Martel wasn't new to all of them. Noishe must have smelled her from outside and that had caused him to run in like that. "How's she doing? Mentally, I mean."

"She's doing well." The nightmares hadn't stopped, but Kratos didn't expect them to. He still had nightmares, the rare times he slept.

"Still doesn't remember anything?"

"If she does, she hasn't mentioned it to us. Where is Genis?" The half-elf was usually the one to accompany Lloyd, even more than Colette these days. As a former Chosen, the newly united world was looking to her and Zelos as a connection to the old worlds.

"He has finals." As promised, Genis was at the Palmacosta Academy when he wasn't helping to fight the anti-half-elven legislation that still existed in what had been Tethe'alla. "He said he'd come by after they were done."

They were saved from the beginning tension of awkward silence by Raine calling for them that it was okay to come back in. Kratos hung back as Lloyd went in. _(He still doesn't know quite how to act around his son. He's been father, mentor, traitor, enemy and friend to him. He doesn't really have a place as his father anymore either. He hasn't been there. He didn't see Lloyd grow up, hadn't been there for questions and homework and the first day of school. Hadn't been there to teach him to hold a sword. He is an observer now, nothing more can be allowed)_

Noishe slunk out, nudging his nose into Kratos' palm. Kratos scratched obediently, automatically. It had been a little bit of a shock to see the protozoan again; he'd thought that Noishe had been killed along with Anna and Lloyd. But no. He'd been doing his job, protecting Lloyd as he'd done since before he'd been born; supporting Anna when she had trouble walking with the heaviness of pregnancy, constantly at her side and volunteering as a pillow on many nights when she couldn't find a comfortable position.

"She's going to be okay," Kratos murmured to Noishe. "You know Martel. She's too stubborn to stay unwell."

Noishe snorted, looking up at him. The large, too-intelligent eyes sparkled a little with something like laughter and agreement.

* * *

After about eight months, Yuan went to see the Spirit. He knelt by the Tree, checking its leaves and branches as Martel had taught him to do so long ago. He'd helped her collect herbs and other supplies for her medicine and she'd explained to him which plants were healthy, which weren't and which plants were good for which injury.

He smelled the Spirit before he saw or heard her. An array of flowers and petrichor, with the underlying scent of ash. He stood before facing her. _(Yuan doesn't kneel. Not to her)_

The Spirit looked different. The likeness to Martel wasn't as strong now. Her hair had streaks of blonde and brown in it—though still largely pale green—and her nose was a bit bigger, her cheekbones less defined. Her skin was still nut brown and her eyes still green like summer leaves, but her stomach was rounder, hips a little wider.

"Hello, Yuan." Her voice was still Martel's, without the accent.

He inclined his head in greeting. "How goes it?"

"Rather well. There have been more visitors than I thought there would have been."

"Here to the Tree?"

"Yes. The way Sheena explains it to me," With Mizuho being so nearby to the Tree now, Sheena stopped by when she could. After all, she still had a village and an entire information network to run. "This place is the last stop on many pilgrimages. There are some people even worshipping it now."

"The Tree or you?"

"The Tree. I understand that Lloyd, Colette and the others have been trying to discourage people from seeing me as a deity."

It was an easy jump for people to make. The Goddess Martel became this lovely Spirit, in charge of the new Tree that was leading the world into a brighter future. Zelos and Regal, in particular, had been explaining to everyone the truth about what had happened, but it was difficult for people to believe all of it.

"People used to worship the Spirits."

"But they wouldn't be worshipping Spirits. Just me. Like I was their Goddess reincarnated."

"To them, you are." Yuan shifted his weight. "And the memories?"

"There are many of them. Weddings and love confessions. Births and deaths. Reunited families. As you can see," Martel gestured to herself. "I'm absorbing many of them."

"Can you control it yet? Your appearance?"

The thoughtful smile she gave him was still Martel's. It hurt less to look at the Spirit now when he could interact and be with Martel every day. _(Just as he refuses to kneel, he refuses to call the Spirit by his wife's name)_ "I hadn't tried yet. Perhaps one of these days, I will."

"I'm sure that'll be an experience in and of itself."

"Mm." Yuan turned to leave, but the Spirit called him back. "Ratatosk was here."

Yuan stiffened. They weren't responsible for killing the Tree; that had been the world at large. The War itself had killed it and therefore broken Ratatosk. Half of his identity was gone and now, the Lord of Monsters was all that was left to him. They hadn't tried to help him, even if they could have. They'd left him alone with a dead Tree and a world full of monsters after he'd agreed to help them, no pact necessary.

Yuan felt guilty for a lot of the things they'd done; the Spirits were a particular sore spot. He didn't do well with betrayal and none of the Summon Spirits had deserved it, but Ratatosk was high up on his list of guilt.

"What did he say?"

"He wanted to meet me. The replacement."

"He called you that?"

"Yes. He was…rather abrasive." Ratatosk had always been rough as bark around the edges. Yuan couldn't imagine that losing half of what he was had done Ratatosk any favors in the personality department. "He said I should give up. That the world wasn't worth it."

"Because we destroyed the Great Tree?"

The Spirit's eyes were studying him and Yuan had the uncomfortable sensation of being x-rayed. "Yes. He spoke of broken promises as well."

"He's not wrong. Not about what we did." Shame wasn't something that Yuan was accustomed to feeling; he'd worked against feeling it for most of his life. But for all the things that he, Kratos and Mithos had done—yes, he was ashamed.

"You are different now than when he knew you."

"Some things aren't forgivable."

She hummed; the sound wasn't natural, coming from more than just her throat. Yuan felt it in his skin, his bones. "…he also called me a fraud."

"What?" Replacement was understandable; that was what the Spirit was, essentially.

"When he called me replacement, I told him my name." Her mouth set in a line and Yuan felt a swell of power from her. A young Spirit she might be, but she would grow to be a powerful one. "He laughed in my face and called me a fraud. Told me that I was no Martel. That I was an insult to her memory."

_(Ratatosk had liked Martel. Had liked her fire, her refusal to back down from him. She'd impressed him more than Mithos had and she'd been the reason he'd agreed to help them. Ratatosk had held nothing but respect for her and Yuan can understand what he'd meant. To him, Martel is dead. Has been dead and she finally has the chance to be laid to rest. Her memory has been dragged through hell for four thousand years. She deserves the chance to rest and here is this newborn Spirit, built on her appearance, her memories, her sacrifice)_

Yuan pressed his lips together, thumb rubbing at his wedding ring. "…To be honest, if Martel had been truly dead, I would agree with him."

A flicker of hurt passed across that lovely face before he felt that swell of power again, right up against his ribs, a threat pressed against his heart, his lungs. Those too-green eyes were glowing in rage. "You have _no right_. I have been alive for less than a year and not once in that year has _anyone_ actually _seen_ me. Do you know what Lloyd's words were to me? The first time he saw me? So you're Mithos' sister. And even after I explain myself, you still see me for her. Not for anyone else or as an individual. All those people see their precious Goddess that _doesn't exist._ She never existed. Even Lloyd and the others. They know the difference, but they don't see me. They see the ghost of a woman I've never met. A woman who has been dead for four thousand years and I _refuse_ to be seen as a mere _memory!"_

Yuan shoved his own mana up, pushing hers out. He could feel it, sparking along his veins and the anger felt good. "Then why don't you tell _them_ that? They never knew her, in truth. Tell all your followers and fanatics that you aren't their Goddess. You said it yourself. You're _made_ of those memories. For people like myself, like Ratatosk, who loved her, you aren't anything more than a shadow. And maybe that will change in the future, maybe it won't, but you're the one who has to find a way to deal with that."

He teleported away before she could retort.

* * *

Kratos caught his arm before Yuan could take more than two steps. "What happened?"

"Nothing." Yuan tried to twist his arm to get free, but Kratos clamped down.

"You're lying. You're practically leaking lightning so something upset you." Kratos could feel it, right underneath Yuan's skin, like static electricity.

"Everything's fine. I'm calming down."

"Maybe so, but until you do," Kratos jerked him back as he tried to take another step. "You're not going near Martel. Anger has no place in a healing room."

 _(Martel used to tell the families of patients that. Used to tell_ them _that. Mithos' fists would clench in anger at the injuries that soldiers came back with. Martel told him to either put a leash on it and help or get out because anger would disrupt the healing)_

Those words made Yuan go still. "…let's talk."

Noishe was staying for several days; Lloyd was in Meltokio, helping Colette and Zelos with negotiations for Sylvarant and Meltokio wasn't fond of Noishe within its walls. Yuan knew that there was no better guardian for Martel than Noishe.

Kratos followed him out and into the sky, out onto a rocky island nearby, but far enough that they couldn't feel the fresh mana that came from the young Tree. He waited while Yuan collected his thoughts, folding his wings back up.

Finally, Yuan seemed to have wrangled his temper back. He took a long breath. "…I may have fought with the Spirit."

Kratos blinked, once in shock and again in confusion. "Why?"

Yuan explained the conversation that turned into an argument. Kratos didn't interrupt, didn't comment, waiting until he was done.

"…she's not wrong," Kratos said finally.

"I _know_ that. But neither was I." His eyes went sharp. Even when he didn't seem to be doing anything, Yuan was watching, observing, memorizing everything for possible use later. "You don't call her by her name either."

Kratos sighed. "No, I don't. I don't think I could."

"That's my point. And—I shouldn't have said it the way I did, I realize that, but—" Yuan trailed off, but Kratos could finish off the thought. "…I've never seen a Spirit so angry before."

Kratos hummed thoughtfully. Origin had felt betrayed, but that rage hadn't been there. Undine hadn't had it either and he hadn't been there for the other pacts that Sheena had made. He'd heard of Volt, though. How he lashed out. "…we need to apologize. We've been…very rude to her."

Yuan's brow furrowed. He knew that he'd been rude, not just in the argument, but in most of the conversations. Rude and cold. But Kratos was polite to a fault. Always had been. "How have _you_ been rude?"

_(For a second, Yuan feels settled. Settled like he and Kratos used to be. Brothers and best friends. Not like they are now, distant and a bit quiet. Back when they were kids and Yuan had a million and one questions and Kratos had been big eyes and a bird's nest of hair and he'd had all the answers)_

"I haven't been much more polite than you have. I've practically ignored her since the day we met." And it wasn't by accident. The memory of Martel still hurt him. Even knowing that she's alive and well and she's still as kind, as understanding as she'd always been, even if she didn't remember them—he still couldn't make himself go. Couldn't make himself look at the funhouse mirror image of a woman he'd helped rip apart the world for. _(Sometimes, he's afraid. He's afraid that he will see traces of Anna in that lovely face. See her smile on Martel's lips, hear her words. See her freckles or the shadow of the burn that had been along her cheek)_

"Kratos Aurion, being rude. Be still my heart," Yuan drawled.

"Statistically, it had to happen."

That made Yuan laugh. The sound was bitter and harsh. _(It's not the sound Kratos remembers)_ "Statistics? Kratos, we are living, breathing _outliers_."

Wasn't that the truth. "We still need to apologize to her. She's Martel's only chance to recover her memory."

He hadn't told Kratos about his and Martel's conversation, that first day outside. "…you're right. I'm not doing it today though."

Kratos nodded. "Understandable." Yuan was very good at holding onto anger and grudges. Whether he wanted to or not, he wouldn't be in any shape to make amends today. "I'll go tomorrow. Let her cool off too."

* * *

By the time Yuan felt calm enough to go back upstairs, Martel was asleep. Noishe didn't even raise his head when Yuan entered, just opened a lazy eye before closing it. Yuan went to sit in his chair, kicking his feet up —He's getting better at believing that Martel wasn't some trick of his mind, that this wasn't some dream that he would wake up from, but he's gotten too used to sleeping in this chair. And besides, Noishe was here and Noishe was the best protector in the world.

He heard the sheets shift and Martel's breathing change. "What happened?" she asked quietly. _(She may not know why, but she knows that he and Kratos have extraordinary hearing)_

"Just a disagreement. I'm fine."

Martel pushed herself to sit up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed so they had a better angle. "You don't have to lie to me, y'know."

Yuan's thumb went to his ring, automatic, instinctive. "It's not worth bothering you with."

Martel leaned forward and Yuan half-expected her to try and stand up. She'd managed it once or twice on her own, but it wasn't a good success rate. Usually, she just ended up sprawled over the floor. "What makes you think it bothers me? After all you guys have done for me? It's not a bother."

 _(His heart aches. This is his wife. This is the woman who used to be his confidant, his partner. She had known every secret and he had never dreaded telling them to her. But she isn't that woman anymore and he_ wants _to tell her, but she's not his anymore)_

He managed a smile as he moved to stand in front of her. "I appreciate that. But seriously, it's not a big deal. Go back to sleep. You need your rest." She gave him a look, like she always did with little things like that. She called it fussing. He called it caring. Yuan kissed her forehead, unable to stop himself. "Good night."

* * *

It took Martel two more weeks to start being able to take a step. And then another. They weren't actual steps, more like shuffling, but it was progress. Yuan walked in front of her, her hands gripping his forearms as she tried to make her legs move.

"No rush," Yuan told her, voice low enough that only she could hear. "Take as much time as it needs."

"I know." Her nose wrinkled in frustration as she stumbled a little, but she regained her balance quickly enough with Yuan's support. "It's just…I'm so tired of feeling helpless."

Yuan was quiet for a moment. "Needing help isn't a sign of weakness." She'd told him that once, when he'd been so angry with himself because he hadn't been able to learn something as quickly as he wanted to. Magic had not always come easily to him; Martel was the one to help him figure it out. Her and Mithos.

Her eyes met his and—for a moment—it looked like she recognized him. From Before. "You should take your own advice."

His lips twisted in a wry grin. "I'm not that wise."

_(He's handsome, she thinks. Handsome in a way that might not always show in a photograph. It needs movement and energy. Needs his voice and the way his eyes change color. Bright, ocean blue when he's happy and comfortable. Teal when he argues with Raine, smirking when she gets into it. He likes to bait people. A navy blue when he's on the edge of sleep. Sea green when he gets defensive. Martel likes his eyes)_

* * *

Raine sat curled in a chair, making notes. There was a great deal of research to be done here in the ruins of a castle. In the rooms upon rooms of books and scrolls and artifacts that had been sheltered away over the millennia. Raine had gone through several shelves of information—accounts. Real accounts of events in the Balacruft Dynasty! Handwritten on stone tablets and scrawled on scrolls—but there was still so much more to learn.

Yuan was stretched out on a loveseat, book in his own lap. He didn't have a separate sheet like Raine did, for translations. He read them quick and easily as though it were the modern tongue.

Kratos was Martel's anchor today. He was a good candidate for a therapist, Raine thought. His seemingly infinite patience was a good quality. He took one step for every three of Martel's, but still, he was attentive, solid. Right beside her the whole way.

"You're doing fine," Kratos assured her as she wobbled, legs beginning to tremble after a few steps. "You can rest, if you like."

She grimaced. "No. I can make it."

"Pure stubbornness won't get you back to normal. It'll just damage you worse."

A snort came from Yuan as he flipped a page. "You have no room to talk when it comes to stubbornness."

There was something about Martel, Raine had noticed, that made Yuan and Kratos warmer. They weren't cold leaders of revolutions or traitors. They weren't seraphim to face or silent obstacles. Now, they smiled occasionally. Snapped teasing arguments back and forth easier. Younger all around, essentially.

"I should be able to do _more_ ," Martel insisted to Kratos.

Kratos took another step before waiting for her to catch up. "Walking is a difficult skill. It takes babies a year to learn. It's only been, what, nine months for you? You're on track."

Her grip on his arm tightened. "You did not just compare me to a baby."

Raine didn't register the sound, at first. She just heard it and turned towards it. Then she figured it out. Snickering. Yuan was snickering. Martel and Kratos both turned to give him a look, which just made his grin widen, despite how he tried to erase it with the back of his hand.

It wasn't until this moment that Raine realized it. Kratos was a father. She'd known this, logically, but it wasn't until right now that it clicked. Kratos had taught Lloyd to walk. Had held his arms out in encouragement. Had crouched behind to catch him. Had held his hands for support. _(And then there's the hundreds of things he_ wasn't _there for. The lost teeth, the questions, the growth spurts, the shaving lessons, the voice cracking…)_

Kratos' lip curled in the corner and before he could say anything, Martel just gave him a look.

Even without her memories, Martel knew him. Knew both of them. She knew how they ticked, their tells. Knew how to make them smile, laugh. Knew what topics not to touch with a ten foot pole. Sometimes, Raine wondered if the soul kept memories too. If souls could recognize things.

It was a foolish thought. Not one for a scholar, but there were times like this that she wondered.

* * *

It took Yuan almost a month to go back to the Spirit. He went a little bit before sundown, _(It's his favorite time of day, when the horizon is a blaze of colors_ ) shadows stretching long and looming.

He felt her power before she appeared, that press of anger against his skin, his bones. "Yuan." That was a whole world of rage contained in that one word.

Politeness. Manners. Respect, he had to remind himself. "…Lady." He couldn't call her Martel, but he could call her _something_.

Those green green eyes blinked in surprise. Had she been expecting another argument? "Why are you here?"

Yuan folded his hands behind his back, at parade rest. He had never been very suited for the military, but some things never went away. "To try and make amends. I—I've been unnecessarily rude and disrespectful to you when you've offered nothing, but help and friendship. For that, I'm sorry."

"You just need my help for your Martel." There was disdain there, not on Martel's name, but on the 'your'. She hated the distinction, hated the fact that there had to be one.

"You're not wrong," Yuan agreed. "We do need your help. But that's not why I'm here."

The Spirit set her hip, leaned on her whitewood staff and gave him an expectant look.

Yuan took a breath before he began. _(He's been mentally preparing himself. He's ready to tell this story. But he hasn't told anyone this in a very long time…)_ "…When you've lived as long as I have…you forget some things. And I forgot where I came from. See, I know what it's like to be a ghost." He met her eyes, unflinching. "I know what it's like to be treated like a memory. To be nothing more than a remnant."

The Spirit took a seat on a boulder, not interrupting. After a moment of hesitation, Yuan sat beside her.

"…I'm the youngest of four sons. My father and my two oldest brothers went to war before I properly knew them. My mother was…not a strong woman. The first year or so after they left, she held it together. But after that…she broke. She didn't want to eat. Didn't want to get out of bed. We were shepherds and as the head of the house now, my brother was out in the fields all the time. So I was at home, with my mother."

Yuan went quiet, his eyes far away. The Spirit didn't kick him into continuing. She was like Kratos that way—content to sit and wait.

"…She had her good days. When she would get up, cook, clean. Be normal. But those were rare and they only got rarer. Most days were…were bad days. She didn't know who I was. She called me my brothers' names, asked me why I wasn't bringing Poppi home." Yuan licked his lips. "I used to correct her. Tell her, 'No, Mama, I'm Yuan.' It would hurt her and she would apologize. It would hurt her that she couldn't recognize me, that she was losing it. I imagine it made her feel like she'd failed, as a mother. So after a while, I stopped correcting her. I didn't want my mother to feel bad, after all. So I stayed a ghost in that house."

_(He hates to think of it, but the humans saved him. The humans might have seen him as less than dirt, but they hadn't thought of him as someone else. And Kratos…Kratos had been the first outsider to really see him. To listen to him. More than even his brother had)_

"…Do you still think she failed?" the Spirit asked quietly.

"As an adult, yes. I have a very clear idea of what good and bad parents do." And that was why Yuan had gotten so furious with Kratos, after meeting Lloyd, after seeing what Kratos had done to his own son. It was one of the reasons why he'd saved him, at Origin's Altar. Parents didn't get the easy way out; not when their children still breathed. "…I've tried to distance myself as much as possible from that powerless, invisible kid. I forgot that feeling and I did the same thing to you. No one deserves to be treated in that way."

The Spirit bit her lip slightly before saying, "When Kratos came to me, he tried to explain why you treated me the way you did. He didn't tell me that story."

"No," Yuan murmured. "He wouldn't have."

"Does he know it?"

"Yes, he does." Kratos knew almost everything about him and vice versa. "But he's good with secrets."

A wind blew and the Spirit pushed her hair out of her face. "I had not entirely considered what seeing your wife must do to you."

"To be honest, the first moment I saw you, I thought you were Martel. But after that, I could never mistake you for her. There were a lot of differences, even at the beginning, before the other memories came in. Ratatosk got it on the nose; I unconsciously believed you stole her. That she wasn't at rest anymore."

"Part of that was my fault. I—I didn't know how to act, what was normal. So instead of trying to figure it out on my own, I took mannerisms from her. Tried to make them mine."

"We were both wrong." Yuan turned a little, held his hand out. "It's nice to meet you. My name is Yuan."

 _(She can't help but stare at him a little. Starting over? That's an option? She almost doesn't want to do it because she's still hurting a bit, still wants to keep it to herself)_ The Spirit shook his hand. "…Thank you."

His smile was a little crooked, bitter around the edges, but sincere. "It's my pleasure, Lady."

"Why do you call me that?"

Martel had asked him that same question once, when people started calling her that. _Lady Martel! Lady Martel_! all down the streets. Kids tugging at her skirts, women inviting her in for scraps of dinner, men flirting or offering to help move supplies.

"Because that's what you are," Yuan said. Words from a different age to a different woman. And they didn't hurt to say, didn't leave a bad taste in his mouth. He was getting better. Healing. It was a strange thing to be doing. Because he never healed the first time. Just stitched up the wounds on his heart and kept going. They would rip open, time and again, but now, they're actually closing, starting to scab and scar over. And it was okay, for the first time in millennia, to heal.

* * *

_I only want your hand to hold, I only want you near me_   
_To love and kiss, to sweetly hold_   
_For the dancing and the dreaming_   
_Through all life's sorrows and delights,_   
_I'll keep your laugh inside me_

* * *

Yuan's feet followed the sound before his mind made the decision to move. Waltz music, floating down the corridors. It was an older kind, from almost a millennium ago, if he wasn't mistaken. A Sylvaranti musician. After Forcystus had sacked the town, he'd tried to save what he could of the people, the culture. Yuan had always thought that Forcystus was the best of the Cardinals, the most honorable.

Yuan leaned his shoulder on the doorframe. Martel was in the center of the room, swaying and humming in time to the music playing from the dusty phonograph in the corner. Sylvarant had just come off of a decline and was on their way to developing better technologies back then. Phonographs had been very popular.

The sight made a smile tilt Yuan's lips. "Having fun?"

Martel whirled around, stumbling a little as she tried to catch her balance. She was walking more or less fine now. It was slow progress and Noishe, lying along the wall, head on his paws, had been her support today, but she didn't need as much help as she used to.

"I recognized it. The phonograph." Radios had been very much a human thing back then; that technology hadn't made it to half-elves, naturally, and the elves wanted nothing to do with it.

"Trying to dance?"

Her cheeks went a little pink. "I don't think I'd be very good. I don't know how."

Yuan hummed in understanding. None of them had known how to dance, back then. A friend of theirs had taught them, but Yuan had gotten it easier than Martel had. "I can teach you, if you like. A waltz isn't _too_ complicated."

"Would you?"

Yuan stepped forward, taking her left in his right. _(It's natural for him, still. She fits like she used to in his arms. Her hands are bonier, but she's_ here… _)_ "And the right one goes on my arm—exactly. For a waltz, the thing to remember is the rhythm. One-two-three, one-two-three. So I step forward with my left, you step back with your right…"

It was slow and stuttering, especially since Martel couldn't move very fast, but Yuan enjoyed just having her this close, having her laughing as she tripped or flushing and apologizing when she stepped on his foot.

The phonograph stopped playing long before they actually finished. Martel leaned on his shoulder, his arms automatically sliding around her in an embrace and Yuan felt her smile. "We should do this more often. I like dancing."

"Yeah, we can do this more." Yuan didn't want to move. He should; this wasn't his wife. Martel didn't remember him and if she did, she'd probably hate him for the things he'd done. But he hugged her a little tighter and just pressed his nose into her short hair. Four thousand years was a long time to be alone.

* * *

Colette, Sheena and Raine brought Martel clothes. Now that she was at a fairly steady weight, normal clothes could fit her rather than the loose pants and too-large shirts that she'd been wearing.

The girls passed by Kratos with the clothes in her arms and he just arched an eyebrow. "Are you putting on a fashion show?"

Martel shrugged helplessly at him from inside the room. "Apparently, I need new clothes."

"Clearly," he said dryly.

"We'll call you if we need you," Sheena told him before closing the door. The girl was strange in her newfound confidence, like breaking in a pair of new shoes. Noishe looked up at him—as he was apparently tagging along after Colette these days—whuffed quietly before laying down on the other side of the hall in front of the door. He would be ready when they came out.

It was several hours later that Yuan went up to let them know that dinner was ready. He knocked on the door twice before entering. It wasn't lack of manners; it was sheer familiarity. Even after so long, something in him was so used to Martel's presence that it wasn't really strange. Someone yelped—it might have been Sheena. Possibly Colette—and Yuan kind of stayed frozen in the doorway.

Seeing Martel naked wasn't anything he was unaccustomed to. He'd bathed and dressed her plenty of times since Kratos had found her. Seeing her in a sundress, however, was something else entirely. The sundress was white with yellow flowers stitched into it. Nothing scandalous, falling a little above the knee, thin straps exposing her shoulders.

It was how _normal_ she looked. How healthy. Even before she'd died, Martel hadn't gotten many chances to wear normal clothes. She'd been fond of dresses, but they were impractical on a battlefield, in a clinic. So she'd worn breeches and a rough cotton shirt that could get stained with blood and worse, had worn her hair back in a practical braid—Her hair length had been her only real indulgence, then—and had kept her one dress at the bottom of her pack, folded neatly, waiting for a day of reprieve.

She looked _happy_. Looked like she had in Yuan's imaginings of the future, back then. Grinning at him from under a sunhat—because she freckled before she tanned and she'd always be forgetting a hat if she went to collect herbs—and laughing in markets and curled in their shared bed.

Martel shifted a little under his gaze. "What?"

Yuan shook himself out of his thoughts. _(They're dangerous, right now. She's not his, can't be his because it'll be a lie. She doesn't know all he's done in her name, because of her,_ for _her. He doesn't want to have these good moments before it's all shattered. Doesn't want to hurt either of them more than he has to…)_ "You look good."

She looked like a dream made flesh, like everything he'd ever wanted and he couldn't even touch her.

* * *

Raine blinked at her former student, who was pulling several pots from where they'd been rather securely tied to the Rheaird. "Lloyd, what are you doing?"

Lloyd set down another pot. So far, he was up to five. "Dad sent them. I told him about Martel and what was going on. He said plants are good for healing, so he sent them with me." Something caught his eye over Raine's shoulder. "Hey, Martel! Oh, wow, you're walking!"

She walked slowly and stumbling a little towards him, Noishe volunteering to be her support. She had one hand on his back as she came closer. "Hi, Lloyd. What's…with all the plants?"

"Dad sent them. Gardening's good for healing, or so he says."

Martel smiled. _(She doesn't quite understand why Lloyd doesn't call Kratos 'Dad' but she figures it's not really her place to ask)_ "I don't know much about plants, but it's worth a shot."

Lloyd grinned at her. "You're in luck 'cause Dad taught me everything he knows."

Naturally, the plants couldn't thrive on Derris-Kharlan, but Lloyd and Martel found a place for them near the entrance to the teleporter. The ground was rocky, but Dirk had taken that into account. His plants thrived in the rocky soil in the Iselia mountains; it was only closer to sea level where the soil was rich enough to grow crops. He'd sent along sage, succulents, poppies, hellebore and primrose.

Yuan joined them later in the day, crouching to touch the leaves of the young plants. He looked over at Martel, who had a smear of dirt on her cheek and was sitting a little ways away, comfortably exhausted. He went to sit beside her.

"Did I like gardening too?" Martel asked.

"Yes, you did. You taught me everything I know about it."

"Really? Like what?"

Yuan looked at the little plants. "Like what sage is good for. Some people really like it as a tea." Personally, he hated sage tea. "It's a healing plant, usually for skin sores and the like. But if you burn it, it's said to cleanse the air of evil spirits."

Martel wrapped her arms around her calves, resting her cheek on her knees. "What else?"

"Um…poppies kind of depend on what color they bloom. Mostly, it's for imagination and eternal sleep."

"Eternal sleep?" she repeated skeptically. "Why?"

"Poppy seeds can be used in medicine. If you crush them to a really fine powder, they can help insomniacs." He'd sat up with her many a night, doing that, usually for the soldiers who couldn't stop seeing the horrors of the battlefield. "As a poultice, it's good for swollen joints.

"Hellebore is a deadly poison. It's a winter flower, though. The story goes that as a priest was on a pilgrimage to visit Origin, she realized that she had no gift to offer him. So she cried. Gnome took pity on her and made a flower bloom through the snow, but its petals stayed white."

"And I taught you all that?"

Yuan hummed an affirmative. "You were a very good teacher."

Her laughter rang out, silvery as it used to be. "Apparently. You'll just have to return the favor for me."

Yuan smiled at her. "I can do that."

A sudden wind blew stray leaves and grass up. Yuan sputtered as it tangled with his hair and got in his face. Martel just laughed harder, but she gestured him forward. As her fingers carefully untangled the leaves from his hair, she said, "I'm telling you, shorter hair makes stuff like this a lot easier." She was close enough that he could feel her breath on his skin.

Yuan raised a hand to toy with the ends of her short hair. It had taken him a while to get used to seeing it on her; long hair had been her indulgence. And he'd liked her hair long, had liked how it had been able to create a curtain between them, had liked brushing it out and braiding it—if she braided her own hair, it always ended up rather crooked, so he had done it for her. He kind of liked the short hair on her, to be honest. It made her seem younger, fresher. A new look for a different woman.

"I'll think about it," he told her.

* * *

Yuan woke to stuttering footsteps; it was a sound that was getting more and more familiar. He pushed his hair from his face, yawning a little. "Martel?"

It was dark enough that without his enhanced senses, he wouldn't have been able to see her. As it was, her smile was a little strained at the edges from tiredness. "You should go back to sleep."

He shook his head, letting his feet fall from where they'd been propped up. "No, I'm awake now. Is there something wrong?"

"Can't sleep. Thought about taking a walk."

"Mind if I join you?" He knew that there were some days that he certainly didn't want company. Maybe this was one of those days for her.

"Why not?"

They walked through Derris Kharlan, trying to avoid the stairs, but Martel seemed to at once be frustrated by them and relished the challenge. Yuan was careful to measure her pace, making sure that he was available as a crutch if need be. Halfway up one of the flights of stairs, her legs gave out. Yuan moved instinctively to catch her, one arm looped around her waist.

Martel gave her legs a vaguely annoyed look as Yuan levered her down to sit on the steps before joining her. "Some days, it feels like they're getting so much stronger and others, it's like I'm back to square one."

"That's how healing goes. You've come a long way."

"And yet, I still have a long way to go."

Yuan made a sound of acknowledgment in his throat. "Why the rush?"

Instead of answering him, Martel's eyes went to some of the windows, to the seemingly endless stars outside them. "…Have you ever tried counting them?"

She wouldn't talk if she didn't want to, Yuan knew. There was no point in trying to push her, so he just answered, "Not seriously. Kratos has though. I think he got to the several hundred thousands. I knew they were uncountable; it just meant that there were that many stories to hear."

"Which stories?"

"For the constellations. But you can't see them very well from in here." He didn't grin at her, but his eyes did, sparkling bright blue-green with mischief. "Want to head outside?"

Martel's eyes went to her legs, still trembling from her walking efforts. "I don't think I could make the trip."

Yuan stood smoothly in one motion. "That's what you have me for." He crouched with his back to her and motioned her forward. "C'mon." _(His first instinct is to carry her in his arms, but a lance jabs his heart at the idea. The last time he had carried her like that had been the morning after their wedding day)_

Martel scooted herself forward until her knees bracketed Yuan's hips and slid her arms around his neck. Yuan hooked his arms under her legs as anchorage as he stood, the sudden motion making her arms grip tighter for a moment before relaxing. He held her weight easily, even down the stairs and into the teleporter. She was back in the range of healthy weight, according Raine, but she still had to build her muscle and endurance back up.

The night air was crisp and cool; autumn was here. It was difficult to tell in this part of the world. Particularly so close to the Spirit. She kept things green all year round. Her power had limits, though; just a half-mile out, the trees were less green, the red and golds of autumn setting in.

Yuan set her on the ground gently, not letting go so as to stabilize her as she sat down. Yuan sat with her, close enough that their shoulders touched. He pointed out the north star—and every region had a different name for it. That had been what he and Kratos liked to do; comparing the stories and seeing the common themes—and began telling her about the great ship in which the Spirits first came to this world. The tip of the mast was the north star.

He moved his way across the sky, with the story of Celsius and her lover, whom the old gods—old enough that even Yuan had never known them—had cursed for daring a Spirit to love a mortal. But the mortal hadn't stopped loving Celsius and stayed by her side to this day, an enormous, loyal wolf.

At some point in the night, Martel's head had fallen to his shoulder. She was still awake, but she was utterly relaxed. Occasionally, she commented on a story, but mostly, she just listened.

There was the name of the heroes and heroines that were blessed by Efreet, their names written in the stars for their sacrifices. There was the messenger girl, beloved of the Sylph, who was so fast that none could catch her. It was only with the rare fruit from the Great Tree that she was distracted by and that was the way she was stopped. There was the defender of dragons, in the eastern sky. A boy raised with dragons and he loved them enough to die for them, fighting off the hunters and slayers.

Yuan heard it when Martel fell asleep. Her breathing deepened, her heart slowed. He thought about moving her inside, but the cold wasn't enough to warrant it. _(It's selfish, but he wants this moment for himself, to have her here beside him, just like Before)_

* * *

_I always swore to you I'd never fall apart_   
_You always thought that I was stronger_   
_I may have failed, but I have loved you from the start_

* * *

Martel looped her arm through Kratos'—partially for support, partially out of familiarity—as they walked slowly through Mizuho. Since it was the village closest to the Tree and the remains of the Tower, it was the one they visited most often. Martel enjoyed interacting with different people, enjoyed being outside, under the sun.

Her dress today was pale blue, with darker blue geometric patterns around the hems and three dark pink flowers near her hip. They'd found her sturdy boots if she was going to walk a lot. Her legs were growing stronger, but they still needed the support.

"Kratos, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"…Who is he to me? Yuan, I mean." Kratos looked at her sideways and she saw the denial on his face before it ever left his lips. "I'm not blind. I see the way he looks at me. Who is he?"

Kratos stopped walking and he wouldn't meet her eyes. "…he's your husband."

Her heart dropped into an icy pit in her stomach. "My husband?"

_(His smiles, his sad, loving eyes, his soft touch…)_

"Yes."

"I forgot my husband." Martel stared at the fourth finger of her left hand, as though she expected a ring to suddenly appear, feeling hysteria starting to build behind her eyes, in her throat. "And you—" She looked up at Kratos. He wasn't too much taller than her, just a few inches. Yuan was taller. "Who are you?"

When Kratos smiled, it didn't have any of Yuan's bitterness. It was just sad, to match the sorrow in his red-brown eyes. "Just a friend."

Martel bit her lip. "How could I have forgotten you? You—and you're still here…after all this."

_(Kratos doesn't know how to tell her that he'll be by her side for as long as she'll have him. He has never loved her romantically—that has been reserved almost solely for Anna—but he loves her and he'll follow her to hell and back, if she but asks)_

* * *

"C'mon, Noishe." Martel didn't quite understand how the 'dog'—she didn't believe that that's what he was, but that was what Lloyd called him—could be so intelligent, but she knew that he understood her. "We're going for a walk."

Noishe acquiesced to being her support. The dog was easily the size of a small horse and he could handle her weight quite easily. Yuan had gone out earlier that day; there had been some kind of business to take care of and it had been just her, Kratos and Noishe for most of the day. Martel hadn't been able to get what Kratos had told her a few days ago out of her head.

Yuan was her husband. And she'd forgotten him.

She walked to the room where Kratos had first found her. She hadn't really had reason to go before and she wasn't even sure why she was there now. Noishe waited patiently beside her as she took in the room. The dais where she'd been, the cold looking machinery and—there was something underneath one of the tables. Something glinting in the cold light.

Martel had problems crouching; her legs couldn't take the weight being put on them like that. "Noishe, can you get that for me?" She pointed and she watched Noishe's eyes—so incredibly intelligent. It was almost like there was a person trapped in there—land on the item. She put a hand on the wall in place of him—he wouldn't have moved otherwise—so he could pad towards it, picking it up carefully in his teeth.

Noishe deposited it in her hand; Martel had no fear of the sharp teeth lying in those undoubtedly powerful jaws. Noishe might be a predator, but he wasn't a threat. Not to her.

The object was light and small. A ring, in two colors. Half gold and half—was that steel or silver? It was rather plain, no fancy ornamentation. Martel sat on a table, peering closer at the ring. There was something written on the inside, but it was difficult to see in this light. _Yu…n…nd…Mar…l…_

She could fill in the blanks. Yuan and Martel. A wedding ring. _Her_ wedding ring. It had likely flown off in her initial panic upon waking. She'd seen Yuan wearing a ring, but she hadn't thought to ask where his wife was, if she liked him being here, day in and day out, for her.

And now she had her answer.

A yawn made her look up. Speak of the devil and so shall he appear.

Yuan stood in the doorway, a travelling cloak still on his shoulders. Now that she knew it for what it was, Martel couldn't stop staring at the ring on his finger.

"What're you still doing up?" Yuan asked, stepping in the room. Noishe whuffed at him and he scratched obediently, sending that tail thumping. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Something like that." Martel looked down at the ring in her hand. "…I found this." She watched Yuan go stiff, watched every muscle tense, watched his easy expression shutter away. "Glad I don't have to explain to you what it is."

 _(He hadn't thought he'd ever see it again. Her ring. He'd thought it had been lost in the millennia. After all, she hasn't had it once in all these months. He hadn't thought that it would be right here…)_ "…Kratos told you?"

"After I asked." There was some strange code of trust between Yuan and Kratos. Martel couldn't quite figure it out. "…Why weren't you the one who told me?"

"It's complicated, Martel."

"So, what, I'm incapable of understanding it?" Martel got to her feet, temper giving her energy. "I forgot _everyone_ I love. I forgot _you_."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm not taking it personally," Yuan told her quietly. "It's not your fault."

"I'm getting really tired of hearing that. I _know_ it's not my fault. Why won't you tell me? Not just about us; about _anything_. What happened to us?"

Yuan's hand dropped away from Noishe's head and he took a step back. "…Don't ask me to do that." He's not strong enough for this. He just got her back; he couldn't let her go. Because that's exactly what telling her would do. It would drive her away.

"I hate being in the dark, Yuan!"

He forced himself not to flinch. "I know. But you'd hate the truth even more."

* * *

"…are you alright?" Kratos had the strangest way of projecting his voice. It could be quiet as a whisper and still be heard clear across a room.

Yuan glanced over his shoulder at him. "No."

Of course Kratos would be the one to find him. Even after all the time, all the secrets and pain between them, they still knew each other best. Yuan still knew that when Kratos needed time to think, to simply _be_ , he went to Origin's Altar and Kratos, apparently, still knew that Yuan came here, to Asgard. The place of his birth. Warped through time, raped by war and still here, still standing strong.

This aqueduct hadn't been here, in his time. This was new. Relatively. This broken aqueduct that towered over the town. It was hard to get to; part of its appeal, really.

"You left her alone?"

"Of course not. Noishe is with her." Kratos moved so they were standing shoulder to shoulder. A quiet, warm presence by his side. "She asked me to come after you."

Yuan snorted, scuffing his boot along the ground. "Still a mother hen. Still needs to make sure everyone's okay."

"…she still loves you, Yuan."

The half-elf set his jaw. "It's not the same, Kratos. She—she doesn't know what we are. What we've done."

"It doesn't seem to matter to her."

"But it will and you know it. Once she has her memories back—"

"She'll love you just the same."

That stopped Yuan short. "What?"

"Martel." Kratos stuffed his hands in his pockets, eyes on the stars. "I don't think there's a power in any world, any universe, that could stop her from loving you."

"When did you become a romantic?"

"…Nineteen years ago." When a stubborn woman stopped him in his tracks. When she told him straight out that she didn't care what he'd done, what his past was. What mattered was what he was doing _now_.

A snort. "Anna was something else, wasn't she?" Yuan had met her. She'd been a real spitfire.

"Yes, she was." _(And he has nothing to remember her by. No ring. Not even the locket anymore. Lloyd has it. Kratos doesn't regret giving it to his son. Sometimes, he simply wishes he had more of her. He's afraid his memory will fail him, that it isn't good enough to remember someone like her)_

Yuan sighed; it was cold enough that he could see his breath. It was getting to be winter around these parts, although there had been reports of wonky weather all over the world. "…I can't do it, Kratos. I can't explain to her what happened."

"Then can you explain to her why? There are only a few months left until she has her memories back, assuming the timeline hasn't moved. Hopefully, that'll lay it to rest until then."

"Yeah. Not tonight though. She won't have cooled off yet." It took a lot to really set Martel off, but once she exploded, she could stew for a long time.

"When did you become a coward?"

"First rule of marriage: if it's your wife, it's not cowardice. It's survival."

That made Kratos laugh, just a little. The sound was alien to Yuan's ears—and when had that happened?—but it made him grin a little in response. It was comfortable, like they used to be.

* * *

Yuan walked the familiar corridors that they lived in. Derris-Kharlan was still cold and empty, at its core. It was only in the few floors that they'd been living in these past months that there were signs of life. Otherwise, it was just cold machines and stars everywhere.

 _(He sees Mithos sometimes, his blue eyes hollow and bruised, his smile broken with blood on his teeth. He hears him talking, more times than he sees him. It's usually not anything specific, what Mithos says. He just talks. Talks about the Renegades, about Yuan and Kratos—traitors that they are. They left him_ alone _. He talks about Martel too. Talks about how much he misses her and how he can't wait for the project to succeed at last. He'll be able to hug her again, laugh and sing with her…)_

Yuan turned when he heard her breathing—a little shallower than his or Kratos'—and for a brief, horrible moment, he saw Mithos' face imposed over hers. Like a ghost.

She didn't stay. She was actually turning to leave when he called her back.

"…I don't mean to keep secrets."

Martel looked at him. Her husband. His hands were in his pockets and his eyes were on the ground. "But you do it anyway."

"I know. It's—I'm protecting people."

She walked, still slightly unsteady, to stand in front of him. "What are you protecting me from? The truth? Do you think I can't handle it?"

"Honestly? I don't think _I_ can handle it." _(He is like a statue, previously broken. He's been put back together, but the cracks are still there and he's waiting for the day, the moment, that he falls apart)_

He wondered what she saw, when she looked at him like that. Did she see how much of a shell he was? She might not remember the man he'd been, but surely she could see that he wasn't who he used to be. Did she see every fragile crack and shattered piece of his mind, his soul? Did she think he was too broken to fix? He wouldn't blame her if she did.

"You can't keep the secrets forever."

"…I know."

"When I have my memories…I'm still going to have questions."

Questions and accusations and worse. Yuan inclined his head. "…I'll answer them. Every one."

"Okay." It bothered Yuan, to see her give in so easily. His Martel would have argued him to the ground because she never minded him not telling her things. She minded when the things concerned her.

Martel stepped past him. They were still off-beat, her steps. Not a smooth rhythm yet. Every few steps, she had to stop, gather herself up.

"I'm sorry," Yuan said suddenly. "For not being stronger."

Her steps stopped and he felt her eyes on him. "You don't have to apologize. It's not a sin to be weak, you know."

Yuan stood there long after she was gone. He wasn't okay with being weak. He wanted to be strong enough to not crumble underneath his own memories. _(But he knows that might not ever happen. He knows that memories have more power than anything in the world. They can make or break him and here he is, teetering on the ragged edge, trying to decide between being pushed or jumping)_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The words in italics are from songs again. Below is the list, in order.
> 
> Melodies of Life from Final Fantasy IX  
> Alone by Fall Out Boy  
> Kryptonite by 3 Doors Down  
> Faithfully by Journey  
> For Good from Wicked  
> We Did It When We Were Young by the Gaslight Anthem  
> One Bedroom by Yellowcard  
> Immortals by Fall Out Boy

_It takes great courage to see the world in all its tainted glory and still to love it. And even more courage to see it in the one you love._  
_-Oscar Wilde (An Ideal Husband)_

* * *

 _In your dearest memories, do you remember loving me?_  
_Was it fate that brought us close and now leaves me behind?_

* * *

Kratos looked up at Yuan, standing just inside his room, gently closing the door behind him. "What is it?"

Kratos could guess what Yuan wanted to talk about; the Spirit had come to talk to them, a few days ago. She could feel the strength of the new memories bracing her. They were strong enough, she believed, to sustain her without those of Martel.

"Should we be doing this?" Yuan asked quietly. "Getting her memories back?"

"Why shouldn't we?"

"The things we've done. In her name. The millions we've killed." Yuan paused before continuing. "Mithos' _death_ , Kratos. It would destroy her. There wasn't even a body to bury, barely a grave for her to visit."

Kratos pressed his lips together. Yuan was right; Martel may have been Mithos' earth and sky, but Mithos was hers too. Practically her son, she'd raised him since their parents died.

"Kratos…I know you said she won't, but what if she does hate us?" Yuan sounded so small, then. Like the boy in Kratos' memories, like the teenager afraid of the battlefield, like the young man playing with a newly forged pair of rings. Like the widowed husband curled into himself in rage and grief. "…we're _monsters_. We're not the men she knew. She'll hate us."

And Yuan didn't know if he could live with that. But Martel not remembering them, not remembering all they'd experienced and shared. Not remembering their wedding or the little jokes. That might be worse and he didn't know what to do.

"…It's not up to us. It's up to her. It's her choice."

And Martel wanted to remember. This was going to happen no matter what. _(Kratos has always known how to talk to him. This is inevitable. Yuan can only bunker down and brace for impact)_ Yuan's left hand tightened into a fist. "I need a drink."

Kratos breathed a laugh, unable to really help it. _(He is still at the tail end of his grief for Anna. He's accepted it, but he doesn't think he'll ever be able to stop blaming himself or that he'll ever get used to the loss of her presence. Martel and Yuan's company makes it easier)_ "Then let's go."

* * *

The morning that Martel got her memories back, Yuan prayed. For the first time in millennia, he prayed to anyone who would listen. He prayed she wouldn't hate them. Wouldn't hate _him_.

They met the Spirit outside, by the Tree. The Tree had grown nearly a foot this year, its branches thickening, the leaves still green and healthy. Lloyd and the others wanted to come, but Kratos asked them to wait. The return of the memories could get violent, in emotions as well as physical. But there had been no stopping Noishe from coming along as well.

Many of Martel's features were gone from the Spirit's body, but knowing her as well as they did, Kratos and Yuan could still pick some out. Martel was walking steadily now, her steps measured, but solid. If she walked for most of the day, she had trouble doing much the next day.

The Spirit met Martel halfway, studying the strange-familiar face that she'd seen only in her reflection. The Spirit reached out, tucking the short locks of hair away from Martel's face, caressed her cheek.

"Last chance," the Spirit warned. She knew the memories, knew how devastating they would be.

Martel took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, straightened her spine and inclined her chin. With a brave smile, she said, "What are we waiting for?"

The Spirit curled a hand around Martel's neck, tugging her forward until their foreheads touched.

An instant later, Martel jerked back, a scream ripping itself from her throat. Kratos, Yuan and Noishe moved towards her immediately, though Yuan was the first to reach her.

His hands hovered over her shoulders, not quite touching. "Martel?"

A weight dragged his heart down at the tears beginning to stream down her face, eyes looking everywhere before settling on him. _(She sees two people with the same face and name, superimposed over each other, unable to quite reconcile them. One smiles easily and laughs even easier; his kisses are sweet and teasing. The other has smiles touched with bitterness and they don't always reach his eyes. The other man doesn't kiss her)_ "Yuan?"

"I'm here."

Her memories of the past year leapt to the forefront. Kratos and Yuan, by her side, always, but… "Wh-where's Mithos?" He'd been insane the last time she saw him. She'd told him to stop, that this wasn't what she'd wanted. But she still needed to see him. He was still her brother.

Yuan and Kratos couldn't find their voices, but she knew those faces. Now and Before, she knew those faces, knew every line of their expressions. Martel's jaw tightened; even if the tears weren't _stopping_ , her voice was steady, braced with protectiveness. "Where is he?"

Yuan had known from the beginning that Mithos-and-Martel was an entity he could and would never change. Martel was mother and sister both; a part of her would always be reserved for Mithos and he'd accepted that.

He could lose her. For this, more than anything else, he could lose her.

"He—Mithos is dead, Martel."

Her face went hollow and blank, eyes wide. "Dead?"

Yuan nodded; his throat was closed up, stuck. Kratos took a step forward. "Martel—"

She backed away from them, not in fear, but the way she was looking at them…it was worse than when she didn't know them. Kratos tried to take another step, but with a word, Martel summoned a barrier in between them. The taste of her magic was citrusy in Yuan's mouth, a taste unique to her.

"What happened? I saw him. He—he wasn't okay, but he was alive." Yuan stared; he hadn't known that she'd ever seen Mithos' madness. When he glanced at Kratos, there was no surprise there. Why hadn't Kratos said anything? _(Because he's kind, a kind coward. He hadn't wanted to tell Yuan of the horror that Martel must have seen in Mithos, had wanted Yuan to have the best thoughts of her afterlife as possible)_

"Will you let us start at the beginning?" Kratos asked.

Martel raked a hand through her hair. "I—I remember seeing some. I—" The memories were in horrible tangles, running into each other each time she tried to follow one. Nothing was straight in her mind. _(Will this drive her as mad as Mithos? Can madness run in the family? A hysteric giggle almost bursts its way out at the irony, though she manages to force it down)_

"You're alright," Kratos assured as he saw her starting to hyperventilate. "Just breathe."

His voice was an anchor. He'd always been that to her. Kratos-and-Yuan, part of what kept her sane in the midst of the horrors on the battlefield and off. And they were here. Even though she didn't want to be near them—the barrier spell had come up unconsciously, but the physical separation from them helped—their presence was still solidifying. Breathe. She could do that. In…and out. Through the nose, out through the mouth.

The new, modern language came easily to her tongue. She remembered the time spent learning it, but she doesn't know how they learned it. "Please. Tell me."

And they did.

When they explained to her about the wings, she stiffened. Kratos and Yuan glanced at each other before releasing their wings. She flinched a little at the sudden light and she stared at them, at the way the sunlight filtered through them.

Yuan took a hesitant step forward; she almost looked she was going to pass out. "Martel?"

She held up a hand, shaking her head. "I'm fine. Keep—keep going."

Kratos saw the look on Yuan's face and continued.

* * *

Martel crossed her arms over her stomach, trying to keep it together. Noishe was a warm presence by her side—he had simply gone around the barrier. But he looked like a wolf-dog. She remembered him as a bird, with the same colors in his plumage, with those same too-intelligent eyes.

The knowledge of what they'd done—all three of them—rested heavy in her mind, on her shoulders. It was because of her. They'd done it all because of her. For her. That was a terrifying concept. _(It's something they had never considered, young as they'd been. They'd been invincible, back then. On top of the world. Until she died. Was_ killed _. And then all their combined power and genius and grief had turned into…this)_

It was hard to wrap her head around, but she could do it. "…You killed him."

Kratos didn't say any more; he had done a lot of the talking. Yuan—the new Yuan, the one she couldn't quite reconcile with the man she knew as her husband—had interjected and taken over parts of the stories, the parts that Kratos didn't know or wasn't there for. _(Because he'd had a wife. And his son…his son, Lloyd, the bright, warm young man that has Kratos' eyes and an unfamiliar grin, had dealt Mithos' killing blow)_

Yuan just nodded, not denying it. Neither he nor Kratos had dealt the final blow to Mithos—their friend, their student, their brother—but they were directly responsible for his death. _(His murder. They should call it what it is. It had all been an enormous premeditated murder)_

Martel shook her head, taking long, shaky breaths. She hadn't interrupted, hadn't commented until they were done. Her legs were trembling a little, not from effort—this wasn't the longest she'd stayed standing—but just from the shock.

"I—I need space." Some of their tells were gone. Martel had known every expression and twitch of their faces, but now, some were gone or changed. She recognized some, but others were entirely alien to her. She could recognize this, at least. Concern. "I'm fine. I just—I need to process."

They both agreed and Martel caught Yuan's hands playing with his ring, twisting it round and round. _(That's a new habit. He never used to do that Before)_ "Okay," Yuan said. There was something else he wanted to say, but he didn't.

They left her, with a few hesitant looks back. Martel turned towards the Tree. The new Tree. How small it was, particularly compared to the Great Tree from her memories. She'd slept in between those roots, had explored through its branches.

The new Spirit—not Ratatosk. Where was he? Had he survived the death of his Tree?—sat upon a piece of rubble that they had allowed to stay, as a bench. Her hair was blonde-streaked brown that fell about her shoulders, long enough to brush her thighs. Her nose was long and aquiline with a humanly broad brow. Long, pianist fingers were wrapped around a whitewood staff, her skin nut brown. It was the eyes that got Martel. Bright green, like sunshine in the leaves, that seemed both too old and too young for that face. _(Her boys—can she still call them that?—have eyes like that now. Too old for their faces. Too sad…)_

Martel sat in the dirt beside the Tree. The soil was mostly dry, the ground rocky, though all manner of green things grew wherever the Spirit stepped or sat.

"They love you," the Spirit said quietly.

Martel fingered the ring she'd taken to keeping in her pocket. Her wedding ring. "I know." Of that, she had no doubts.

Those green green eyes studied her. "Do you still love them?"

The automatic answer was 'yes'. "…I don't know." Martel could still see her baby brother very clearly in her mind's eye, smiling, grinning and tugging at her hand or skirts. Could remember the weight of his head in her lap. But she could also remember him with broken, bruised eyes, could remember that terrible giggle-laughter, could remember how he'd made that brokenness his shield, his sword.

Martel looked over at the Spirit. "Do you love them?"

The Spirit blinked, like she hadn't expected that question. "I…don't know either. But I do not know what love is."

"Heh. I used to say the same thing." She'd said the same thing to herself the first time that Yuan kissed her. And again when he'd proposed. She'd decided, at some point, that it didn't matter if she knew. That Yuan would be by her side to help figure it out. And he always was. "I'm not sure I know anymore."

"Maybe not," the Spirit conceded.

Martel's lips tilted in a faint smile. "Am I talking to the wrong person?"

"Probably."

She wanted to laugh. She wanted to laugh and cry and shout. Wanted to run and swim and do everything. She wanted to curl beneath her blankets and never come out again.

"I appreciate you trying."

The Spirit inclined her head. "It is the least I can do."

Martel's brow furrowed. "Why do you say that?"

"They saved the world. Because of you. You inspired them."

"I also damned it."

"I wouldn't say so."

" _Billions_ of people are dead because of them. Billions more have suffered. How is that not damning?"

Those eyes went old, like a tree with deep roots. "Because I see more than you think I do. I may be a young Spirit, but I am not naïve. I know the suffering of those people. But I also see the good that those two have done in penance. The people they've helped."

"I don't think there's enough penance in the world for what they've done."

"They probably agree with you." _(Spirits, but she's right. Knowing Kratos and Yuan as well as Martel does, she can figure out their thought patterns. She knows the depths their guilt can spiral to, knows them to their core)_ "But they're trying. They will spend the rest of their lives trying to make up for it, even if they never can."

For some reason, it annoyed Martel that the Spirit knew the other two better than she did at the moment. They were _her_ family. How could anyone know them better? She stood, annoyance and confusion and anger all still raging inside her as she walked away, Noishe padding after her.

* * *

Martel didn't go looking for Raine, not exactly, but she found her in the infirmary, sitting on a stool, a book in her hands. Raine glanced up at her as soon as she stepped into the room, one hand still lingering on the doorframe. She marked her page and closed the book.

"Were you waiting for me?" Martel asked.

"Kind of. I thought that there were a few things you would want to talk to me about."

"You're not wrong." Noishe brushed past Martel's hip as he entered the room. "…You lied for them."

"Not outright."

"Lies of omission are still lies. The part that I don't understand is why you agreed to help them."

"I would think that that would be the easy part for you to understand. I'm a Healer and practically a mother; I don't find it easy to turn away people in pain."

"I don't believe that's true. You may not like it, but I think you can let logic dictate your actions and be settled in that decision. You have no loyalty to either Kratos or Yuan. They're both traitors and monsters in your book. You certainly had no loyalty to me; quite the opposite, in fact. As a Healer, you know that things have their time and I ran out of mine long ago. So when you figured out why Yuan came to you, why didn't you tell him no?"

Raine had known that Martel was perceptive and intelligent, but there had always been a spectator-like innocence to her questions before her memories were given back. Now that she was purpose-driven and so very actively involved with the questioning, it was a little daunting.

"I couldn't have guessed what Yuan needed me for, when he first asked me. It wasn't until I saw you that the pieces came together. But the way he acted around me, even the way Kratos acted in the hallway when he came to greet me—I thought I'd seen them at their most desperate, risking everything to take down Mithos." Martel flinched at her brother's name. "But I was wrong. It wasn't as obvious, but I knew that they were willing to risk more than before to help you. And that thought terrified me. It still does."

"Are you saying that if Genis was practically dead, in a coma, you wouldn't have done everything in your power to save him? If you'd thought he was dead and suddenly, there was a chance for everything to come back?"

Raine set her jaw. "Genis is my only family, practically my son. But I wouldn't tear the world apart for him."

"Funny," Martel said softly. "But back then, before I died, I would have said the same thing. We all would have. Don't underestimate the power of grief, Raine." _(In that moment, she reminds Raine of Mithos so very much. The quiet Mithos, the one with the whisper-soft logic that slithered its way into your mind, your heart)_

"That's where you're different than I am. I don't allow myself that kind of capacity. I don't even let myself do it in the hypothetical. There is right and wrong and—"

"You think I don't know that?"

"I think the line between them can get very blurry for you," Raine said bluntly. "I was afraid of what Kratos and Yuan would have done if I didn't help. Where they would go to find the kind of knowledge they needed. That's why I helped. And I think you're more like them than you're willing to admit."

"I appreciate your honesty." Martel shifted her weight onto the other leg. "…You're worried I'll go down the same path as them, aren't you?"

"I believe you have the capacity for it."

She snorted a little, brushing her hair behind one ear. _(It's so_ short _now and while her body knows how short it is, knows just how much movement her arm has to do for things like that, she remembers her hair longer, heavier, remembers different angles, remembers having to brush her hands farther back behind her ears to toss the rest of her hair over her shoulder. It's an odd feeling)_

"I don't like what they've done. I want to hate them for it."

"Actions speak louder than words."

"In a perfect world, maybe they do." Martel looked away for the first time in their conversation. She looked ancient, in that moment, just as old as Kratos and Yuan. Raine had never seen her that way, despite knowing her true age.

"Those two are master liars."

Martel laughed softly. "Oh, sure; maybe to you they are."

"Think they wouldn't lie to you?"

"They already have. For an entire year, they've lied to me." Martel refocused on Raine. "And I knew they were. I didn't know about what—Spirits, who could _ever_ have guessed that?—but I knew it. Without knowing them, I could tell. They're the people I love most in the world. They might lie to me, if they feel they need to, but I will call them on it, if _I_ feel I need to. Can you understand that?"

"Some lies are too big to forgive."

"I know that too. I just don't know if this is one of them."

* * *

He was being deliberately loud; not terribly so, but Martel knew his steps, knew his weight, his movements. Yuan didn't make noise when he moved unless he wanted to. _(This is new information, for the new Yuan. The old Yuan had been unashamedly loud, in people's faces. He had refused to be invisible)_

"I still need space," Martel told him.

"I figured you would," Yuan said. He moved carefully into her line of sight, setting a plate of food down. "But you still need to eat. You're not back up to one hundred percent yet."

_(He has always done this. Reminding her to eat, to sleep when she got so far into her Healing work. When she forgot the world outside of the mana at her fingers and the wounds beneath her hands. This hasn't changed)_

"…Why are you still here?"

She caught his minute flinch at the words and hated herself for causing it. "I get it. I'm leaving."

"No! That—it came out wrong. I'm sorry. I'm not…all together yet. Stay. Please."

He joined her on the window ledge she'd perched herself on. A window that stared out into nothing but the stars. Martel couldn't decide if she liked the view or if it terrified her. He leaned with his back to the stars, forearms on his knees.

"Did you mean, why am I still _here_?" Yuan's eyes were, for once, unreadable, like hard emerald walls keeping everything out. Or everything in. Martel wasn't sure which. She didn't know this man anymore. He wasn't the man who had stood with her at that altar, who had warmed her bed and kissed her awake in the mornings, who had fought and grieved with her. She didn't know this man with a bitter-touched smile that looked more like a smirk. This man whose eyes were so sad and whose shoulders seemed to be bearing the weight of the world.

"…Kind of. But…" Martel wrapped her arms around her knees. "…This is going to come out wrong already, I know it, but—why are you still alive? You and Kratos?"

"Why us and not Mithos?" Yuan's words were direct, but he said them as gently as he could. After all, Mithos had been his family too.

"That's part of it."

He twisted the ring as he talked. "Honestly…I was almost the only one. Kratos was ready to die to release Origin's seal."

Martel closed her eyes; Kratos had never been the suicidal type, the type to just give up. He was stubborn like that. How tired had he been? How exhausted and empty had life left him that he was ready to die without a fight?

"Kratos…isn't right in the head." Martel remembered the days when they could say things like that as a joke, teasing. "He was…relatively sane, for most of those four thousand years. You know him." Yes, she did. He'd always been a steady touchstone in the midst of everything. "Anna's death was the part that really broke him. He's still grieving, in his own way."

"How did she die?"

Yuan hesitated about answering. It was Kratos' story to tell, after all. But Kratos had told the big story that morning. It had left him raw, old wounds still open; he hadn't left his room since they'd left Martel to her space. Yuan could spare him having to relive that day.

"She was an experimental subject in one of the human ranches. A012. Anna Irving, from the town of Luin. They— _we_ —were trying to create a Cruxis Crystal inside of her body. She was…a successful subject. The Crystal was half-developed when Kratos met her. He broke her out and they lived on the run. The head of that ranch, Kvar, was a rather possessive man. He wanted Anna back. It took four years for them to track Kratos and Anna down." Yuan's fists clenched. "Kvar removed her Exsphere. Anna became a monster. Hell, Lloyd was right nearby, with Noishe. Anna went for Lloyd, while Kratos was fighting the soldiers."

"And Noishe defended him." Of course.

Yuan nodded. "He wouldn't hurt Anna though. He could still recognize her as herself. He's got a fear of monsters now." Yuan set his jaw. "Anna managed to regain control of herself, but only for a moment. She begged Kratos to kill her."

Martel inhaled sharply. "…And he did."

Yuan nodded. "Noishe and Lloyd had fallen down a cliff, right before Anna did. Kratos searched, but he couldn't find them. He thought they were dead too."

"Spirits…I can see why he wanted to die."

His eyes went to ground. "…Yeah. Me too."

"Why didn't he? Origin's seal was tied to him. It _should_ have killed him."

"I gave him mana. He may have been ready to die, but—"

"You weren't ready to let him," Martel finished. That, she could understand perfectly. Kratos-and-Yuan had been a thing long before she'd met them. They were best friends, brothers. "...So you never thought about ending it?"

He still wouldn't meet her eyes. He wasn't proud of the man he'd become, wasn't proud of his actions. "More than a few times, over the years." The twist of his lips wasn't a smile. It was some bitter approximation of one that Martel didn't recognize. "But I'm a coward, Martel. I could never do it."

She surged to her feet, almost overbalancing in her haste to crouch in front of him. "Am I supposed to be ashamed for you? No. I'm happy that you didn't do it. If you'd killed yourself, none of this would have happened. Mithos—" Her voice fell away then. Her baby brother, so trapped in his own insanity. She had to work to find her voice again. "What horrors he would have done. His…Age of Lifeless Beings would have been a reality." Her hands curled around his neck, fingers scraping his nape. "You saved it."

"I should have stepped in sooner. I knew what he— _we_ —were doing, but I just…didn't care."

"A lesser man would have ended it. Would have just let the world be damned, let it take care of itself, for good or ill."

His eyes finally met hers again. _(There's some automatic reaction in her stomach, almost a flutter, but something more. He has this effect on her—always has—with his beautiful eyes and handsome face. With all of that attention focused on her)_ "Martel…I'm a _monster_. What I've done—it's unforgiveable. I know that. And I used to tell myself that it was for the greater good. How many people died because of that lie? How many did I allow to suffer?"

Martel bit her lip before saying, "Funny, this doesn't look like the face of a monster." She brushed his bangs from his face. "You still look like my husband to me." A bitter version, a version twisted by time and war and suffering.

"I'm not the same man you married." His voice was quiet, gentle, not accusing anyone of anything. Just stating facts. "Question is—can you live with that?"

His strength was breaking; she could see the vague desperation in his eyes. _(He can't lose her. Not after all this. But he knows he might. And he can't even blame her if she leaves)_

"I—I don't know." Her hands dropped to his. The ring was a familiar texture to rub her thumb over, one she knew from holding hands at dinner and from his hands running over her skin. "'To cherish and honor until our lives be done'. We couldn't have imagined all this. It's nothing we signed up for."

He squeezed her hands. "Martel, I know those vows were sacred, but—don't factor that into your decision. If you don't—want to stay, you don't have to. A marriage shouldn't be an obligation."

_(She wonders what she's ever done to deserve this man in her life. Because right now, she recognizes him. Still sweet, still the man she'd laughed with during their wedding night. Still the man who, on their wedding day, had talked to her through a window and said that if she changed her mind, he wouldn't be offended. That this was all kinds of terrifying and he'd made her laugh and the nervousness settle)_

"I don't have an answer for you. Not yet." She smiled a little helplessly. "Seems like you're always waiting for me." For four thousand years, he'd been waiting. Maybe he hadn't known what for, but he was.

Yuan matched her smile and his eyes lost the defensiveness. "Not to be sappy, but you're worth waiting for."

She felt a flush coming up her neck and she ducked her head. Martel had never had time to get used to the idea of him, to the idea of being loved like that. _(Perhaps she is never going to. She kind of likes that idea)_ They'd been married a little over a year when she'd been killed. Where was her tongue? It was like she'd forgotten how to talk to him. "Still a sweet-talker, I see."

His smile widened a little. "Just for you, I promise."

* * *

"Are you sure?" Kratos asked.

Martel sat in the infirmary on a stool, hands folded together with her elbows on her thighs. "Yes. I can't think clearly here. I need to get my memories in order. And—I need to see it. The world now." What they'd done.

Yuan crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. "Traveling by yourself?"

She arched an eyebrow; this was something she'd thought was settled the day they met. "According to you, this world is far less dangerous than the one we knew. I'm perfectly capable of handling myself." Magic was something that was quite clear in her mind, the spells and incantations.

"Not in that sense," Yuan said.

"Physically." There was a pinch in Kratos' brow that meant concern. That was new information; he used to be so expressive. "You're not fully healed."

"And if I wait until I am, it could be several more months. I am healed enough for travel." And they couldn't argue with her on that one. While she trusted Raine's expertise, she'd examined herself and she knew how far she could push her own limits.

"No way to talk you out of this?" Yuan asked.

Her expression was their answer. _(This has come back quick. Her stubbornness, her courage in the face of the world. It is in front of these two, the only parts of her world left, that she falters)_

"Good luck, then, I suppose."

They would have hugged her, back then. Martel wanted to, but it was almost like Kratos had an aversion to touch, now and Yuan…she was still trying to figure out the boundaries there.

"I'll visit with Lloyd and the others," Martel assured them. "That way, you have proof that I'm okay."

She saw them relax, just a little and that made it easier to leave.

* * *

 _I don't know where I'm going, but I don't think I'm coming home_  
_And I said, I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead_  
_This is the road to ruin and we're starting at the end_

* * *

Mizuho was her first stop, naturally. Sheena grinned when she saw her, welcoming her with a wave. She was a welcome change. Martel could tell that she still felt a bit awkward about Martel's memories, but she was trying not to bring it up between them.

The last summoner, Kratos had said. Mithos had tried to kill them all off, so no one could do what Sheena had done. Mithos' plan had revolved around something unique—his connection to the Spirits. Summoners strong enough to make a pact with the Spirits had been rare even back then; most of them could only summon small things, like monsters or lesser elemental spirits. Maybe demons.

"Travelling the world, huh." Sheena shared lunch with her at the low table. Rice, roasted fish, fruit. The fish had a hint of spice that Martel was rather fond of. "That takes some guts, doing it on your own. Do you have a map?"

"I was hoping you could help with that," Martel admitted. While she was willing to just walk until she found a place, it wasn't a particularly desirable option.

Sheena stood fluidly; it was strange. Martel had seen her being a bit clumsy, but there were moments where her training and grace as a warrior shone through. "Well, being a new world and all, it took a while to figure out where everything moved to. It took us like eight months to properly map everything out and Tethe'alla and Sylvarant are still trying to hash out the lines between their countries so official maps are still kind of rare, but you can have one of our copies."

She handed Martel a piece of parchment with a map overlaid with a grid. The names were written in her language—Mizuhoan, she'd said—with the common name written neatly above it.

Martel recognized the outline of the continents, mostly. It was her own world that she remembered studying. But there were mountains where she didn't remember them; bays where there had once been valleys. A forest where there had once been a battlefield. And she didn't recognize any of the cities.

Except two. Heimdall, where she'd been born and then exiled, and Asgard. Tucked away into the southeast mountains. Martel had been there only once. It was where Yuan was born, she knew, but there were few things that she could say about it.

"Any suggestions?" Martel asked.

Sheena sat down beside her, pointing to where they were now. "You could head east and go to Altamira. Regal and Presea live there. Most of the area directly past Altamira's just mountains and mines, but if you head northeast from there, you'll hit Iselia. Triet and Izlood are out there as well, past the desert. From Izlood you can go….wherever, basically. There's a port in Palmacosta, here in the southeast. Boat's the only way to get to Meltokio these days, in the southwest. That's Tethe'alla's capitol. And Sybak would make a full circle, 'cause it's to the west of us."

"What is Sylvarant's capitol?" Martel had read a lot in the last year, but there was four thousand years of history and literature up there. She'd only had a little piece of it.

Sheena's mouth went a bit grim. "Honestly? They don't have one. They're talking about making Iselia the capitol, because of Lloyd, but I don't think Iselia has the resources to be one. Palmacosta would have been a good choice, before it was destroyed. As it is, it's just putting itself back together. We're trying to get them to make Luin the capitol. It's been restored, it's a beacon of hope for all Sylvaranti. It's got good resources and it's a pretty safe place for people. Plenty of room of people to come and build homes and families there."

"They don't have a leader?"

Sheena shook her head. "No. Sylvarant was in decline for so long that they pretty much dissolved into city-states. Not too much contact between them. Palmacosta had a Governor-General, but…that didn't pan out."

"You're very well-informed."

"I would hope so," Sheena said, a rueful grin on her face. "It's been my job for the past…what, almost eight years now."

"Eight years?" Martel's eyebrows hit her hairline.

"Yeah. Before I was Chief, I was the ambassador for Mizuho. It's how I met Zelos. He's the one who suggested me to be ambassador between Tethe'alla and Sylvarant, actually."

"Why you?"

"Mizuho...it isn't really part of Tethe'alla, per se. We're kind of outsiders. I'm trying to change that a bit, make it so our village is more open, but it's hard to change that much tradition. And I travelled through Sylvarant without Lloyd and the others. They know me in Luin and Hima. And I was already an ambassador in Meltokio."

Martel had never thought that Sheena was unintelligent, but to know that she had the shrewdness for political games—that was something she couldn't have guessed. "You are full of surprises."

Sheena's cheeks pinked a little. "Thanks, I guess?"

She began to roll the map back up, but Martel stopped her. "I have one more favor to ask."

"Sure. Anything."

"Can you mark the places where the Temples are? I wish to visit them." She had a lot to apologize for, after all.

Sheena smiled faintly; Martel couldn't quite decipher the emotion behind it. "No problem." She rose to get a pen and talked as she wrote. "Volt is the closest one. He's just north of here. I-I can take you there, if you like." _(She hasn't been back to the Temple since they formed the pact. Since Corrine died. She knows Volt won't go on a rampage, she trusts him now, but there is still a trickle of fear left in her)_

"I would greatly appreciate that."

"Celsius is up north, by Flanoir." Sheena ticked off each as she spoke, a mark with the names. "Gnome and Shadow are on the same continent, down by Meltokio. Luna and Aska are out by Luin; the Sylph are on the south end of that continent, off by Hakonesia. Undine is a few miles off the coast of Izlood and Efreet's right near by Triet."

"Origin?"

Sheena's eyes met hers. _(Origin's bond had been very different than the other Spirits. She'd seen flashes of people when it happened. Flashes of Kratos, at various points in his life, which makes sense. His life had been tied to the seal. Flashes of Mithos too. And Martel. Because Origin had loved them all)_ "He's still in the forest by Heimdall, which is south of Altamira now, right across the bay."

Martel had expected an answer similar to that, but she still couldn't help the involuntarily clench of her fists at the mention of Heimdall. _(She is far gone from the girl she'd been when they exiled her and Mithos. The_ world _is far gone from those times. The people who had shouted and thrown stones and spells are long gone, less than dust in the wind. She has no reason to be afraid; she has faced worse than elves' bigotry and come through, but the idea is still a bit terrifying)_

"And Ratatosk?"

At that, Sheena frowned in confusion. "Who's Ratatosk?"

That hurt, somewhere deep. Had Kratos and Yuan erased him from the annals of history as well? Sheena should know the name, should know the Spirit of the Great Tree, but there wasn't any kind of recognition there. "He was…the Spirit of the Kharlan Tree."

Immediate understanding flooded Sheena's eyes. "Oh. I-I don't think he exists anymore. The Great Tree died." She'd killed it, with all the power she had, amplified by the Mana Cannon.

"I thought as much. I just…hoped that he'd managed to survive it."

Martel helped Sheena prepare dinner. Chicken and beef in a sticky, dark sauce with rice. Orochi, Tiga and Sheena's grandfather, Igaguri, joined them as well. Orochi brought some buns with fruit jelly in the center for dessert; they quickly became a favorite of Martel's, particularly the date filled ones. They instructed her in how to eat with chopsticks, which was tricky at best, but Martel relished the challenge.

Sheena gave Martel a bedroll—"We call them futons," she explained—some blankets and a pillow for the night. Martel lay awake for a few hours, just staring at the ceiling, her mind still jumbling and sorting through thoughts and memories. _(It's been a long time since she's fallen asleep without the sound of someone's breathing in the room, mostly Yuan's. There is no hum of machinery here either and the outside world is still quiet at the beginning of spring)_

Sheena woke early, as Martel learned. Not that she minded; Martel was used to waking early herself. Mithos had been a restless kid, never one to sleep in because he had so much to do. Some habits never died.

"Good morning," Sheena greeted, brewing a pot of coffee. Martel had learned to love the smell; Kratos and Yuan were both fond of it. There had been a rough version of it, when they were growing up, that was given to the soldiers in some parts of the world, but this version was far superior. "Want some coffee?"

"Yes, please." Martel leaned against the counter, looking out the window. Dawn was a faint suggestion of pink on the horizon.

"I'm glad someone else likes it. Everyone in the village swears by tea."

"You don't like tea?"

The summoner shrugged, tucking her hair behind one ear. It was still disheveled from sleep. "I grew up with it, so I got used to it. And some of them, I really do like. There was this one white tea that I tried in Meltokio; I get it every time I go."

"Since they don't drink coffee here, did you try it in Meltokio too?"

Sheena took two mugs and poured the coffee. "…Yeah. I was living at the Research Academy and they had some really _horrible_ coffee—like sludge—but Zelos taught me where to find the good stuff."

Martel poured some milk and a few teaspoons of sugar in her mug, stirring it gently. "…I remember that, in Heimdall, they had oolong tea." That wasn't what the elves called it, but there had been many half-elves that couldn't pronounce the word, so it had come out 'oolong'. At some point, Martel had started pronouncing it that way too. "It's so hot and humid there that they would keep the tea leaves out so they would wither before turning it into tea. It's usually really light and they would taste kind of…fruity, almost. They always smelled like flowers or fruit."

"That sounds good." Sheena liked the light bittersweetness that tea could have. She never put sugar in it; Grandpa called it blasphemy, ruining good tea like that.

"It was." Martel wondered if those tea leaves still existed in Heimdall, if they still made tea like that.

Sheena finished gulping down her coffee. _(It's easy to forget, sometimes. How old Martel is. Who she really is. Because Martel has been her friend for the past year. She's laughed with her, helped her relearn to walk. But there are times like this that Sheena wonders how she can forget. Because Martel's eyes are like Kratos'. Like Yuan's. Like Mithos'. Too old for that young face, with dark things hidden behind them, remnants of a war four thousand years gone)_ "Well, I'm gonna start getting dressed. We've got a journey ahead of us today if you want to visit Volt."

Martel looked up from her mug. "Oh, right. Okay."

She showered after Sheena, relishing hot water on her skin. Showers were wonderful things, she decided. They hadn't been all that common yet, when she'd been growing up. The elves had their version of it, but the water hadn't run hot. The more wealthy humans had had them as well.

As Martel was pulling on her boots—there's a knife in one, from Kratos. She'd taken it because she knew how he worried—she asked Sheena if she had any candles. If Sheena was puzzled, she didn't show it. She just went and pulled some out from her box of emergency supplies that she kept in the hall closet.

Martel was fascinated by the Rheaird. It was so sleek, so elegant in its design! And how it had appeared from the little pouch that Sheena kept tucked in her belt—"Obi," Sheena had instructed—and how it ran.

Sheena answered what she could. It ran on Volt's mana, which was pretty convenient for a summoner. She confessed that she didn't really know how a wing pack—the little pouch—worked. "Yuan would probably be able to tell you more."

"Why?"

"Well, I know he helped design the Rheairds. Maybe he helped design wing packs too, for easier transport."

Martel looked at the machine. Yuan designed these? She could sort of see his taste in them; all smooth and streamlined edges. She could picture it—him burning the midnight oil, borrowing one of her hair clips to keep his bangs out of his eyes as he poured over blueprints and wires and motherboards. _(Yuan has always been fascinated with learning, with technology. He'd been the one to take the humans' schematics of magitechnology to try and figure out a way to make them less dependent on mana.)_ It was a little piece of him that was still the same.

Martel sat behind Sheena, wrapping her arms around her waist. She expected a rough takeoff, but the Rheaird was smooth and steady under Sheena's guidance. It wasn't loud either; the engines hummed gently, but Martel could hardly hear it, even if the wind hadn't been rushing past her ears.

When they landed, Martel couldn't stop staring at the Temple. Or the ruins of it. Most of what was left was a tall, singular tower, covered in moss and vines. But the Temple used to be enormous, used to house priests and monks and travelers. There had been a long hall for eating and a courtyard for their training. There used to be a graveyard too and places of private reflection hidden all about the area.

"What's wrong?" Sheena asked, tucking the Rheaird away.

At first, Martel didn't understand the question. How could Sheena not _see_ the damage? But then she realized that Sheena had never known it as a true Temple, had never seen it whole. "It's…different than I remember."

When they stepped into the tower, Martel was startled to find the defense systems up and running. It used to be that they were only turned on in times of war—which had been dozens of years, in her youth—but there was no war now. Or were they simply unable to be powered off?

They had to fight off a few monsters, which shouldn't have even been there. There had never been monsters before. _(What Martel has no way of knowing is that Ratatosk is singularly responsible for that. He used to keep his monsters away from the Temples—or at least, made sure they didn't threaten the inhabitants—but since he broke, he has allowed them more or less free reign)_

As Sheena and Martel climbed the stairs upwards towards the altar, Martel noticed how Sheena seemed to get more uncomfortable the closer they got. She actually hung back once they got to the top, fingers playing with a little bell that she kept tied to her obi.

Martel placed the candles at the foot of the altar and lit them with a spell. She knelt and mentally recited one of the prayers that she could remember. After the prayer, she just talked to Volt. It had always been her opinion that too many people came to the Temples asking for things and never thought about the Spirit. So she talked, apologized.

When she was done, Martel stood up, having to use the altar for support and she stared at the thick layers of dust. No one was caring for the altars. No one even seemed to remember that the Spirits were here. _(Mizuho used to care for Volt's Temple. Until a third of their population had been killed due to his rage. It's been over ten years since anyone other than Lloyd and his friends have stepped into the Temple)_

Martel looked over at Sheena. "Are all the Temples like this?"

"Forgotten? Dusty?" Sheena pushed herself off of the wall she'd been leaning against. "Yes." Sheena hadn't noticed it, but because of her pacts, there was a line of thought between each of the Spirits and her. It had been a common thought between them all. They'd been all but forgotten by people. They were wasting away in the depths of their Temples.

"There's nothing you can do?"

"People don't even believe in them anymore. I can do a lot, but I can't do the upkeep of all the Temples by myself. I've been trying to get people to believe, but I'm not exactly the best public speaker. Besides, people just scoff at me. The Spirits are seen as a pagan religion, something from the distant past."

Martel took in the Temple, the towering columns, the large windows at the front, the dirty floors. "I'll help you. I won't let them be forgotten entirely."

When Sheena smiled, Martel saw the ghosts of the Spirits overlaid in her face. She felt a familiar tingle of static electricity up and down the little hairs of her arms. _(Sometimes, Yuan's kisses have that same effect. Lightning lives inside his skin and it doesn't always stay there)_ "Thank you."

* * *

Despite all of her progress, there were mornings where Martel's legs trembled at the very _thought_ of standing. Those were days that she forced herself to her feet and trudged to the nearest village or House of Salvation to rest. _(Those are the days that she misses them the most. She misses their support, their anchorage)_ Martel talked to herself, sometimes. She'd never known this quiet, had never travelled by herself before. She hadn't even lived by herself before.

She made it to Sybak in one piece. The town was a lovely one, but something was off. She could feel it. She drew her travelling cloak closer—well, Yuan's travelling cloak. He'd asked her to take it, for his own peace of mind—tugging the hood up. Kratos and Yuan had warned her that while slavery might not exist anymore, people still had strong reactions to half-elves. And Martel was certain that she didn't look human. And even if she did, her hair wasn't long enough to cover the points of her ears anymore.

Sybak was fascinating for the very idea of it. An entire town, dedicated to research and learning. The town had been damaged, that much was obvious. There were still entire neighborhoods with collapsed roofs and sunken streets.

"You're new in town."

Martel whirled to look at the speaker. The man was dirty, brown hair hanging lank in his face, cheeks hollow. His eyes were slanted and he had the delicate bone structure for an elf, but he had the broader shoulders of a human.

"And how do you know that?" Martel kept her grip on the staff that Raine had given to her. It was one of the ones she'd used on the journey, but she didn't really have much use for it now. Besides, she'd said, she had others.

"I would've remembered someone who looked like you." The man got to his feet from where he'd been crouching on someone's front stoop. "Brave of you, to travel on your own."

"Is there a point to all this?"

"Half-elves should stick together. They'll eat you alive out there."

"They can try."

_(She has survived worse things than this. She has survived entire cities out to kill her. Her and Mithos. She outran them, took refuge in the Ymir. She had gone off the paths, fought off the monsters and hidden with the trees and the fishes. She has survived wars and explosions and even her own murder. She will not allow herself to be stopped. Not now. Not after all this has been done)_

* * *

Martel stayed in Sybak for about a week; she explored the town a bit—difficult, with the damage—and rested her legs before getting passage on a boat to Meltokio. The passage was third class, but the voyage took two days. Kratos and Yuan had given her money—and warned her. Things seemed horridly expensive now, what with inflation and all that. She appreciated the warning; 70 gald for a loaf of bread? That would have fed a family for a month!

Meltokio made her heart thud. How like the human capitol it looked! It wasn't even in the same continent that the human capitol had been—that place was likely little more than ruins now—but the cobbled streets, the tall spires of the castle, the thick walls and brightly colored roofs…it was all the same.

A familiar person awaited her just inside the gate. Zelos hadn't been able to come visit often, but he'd come. And now, Martel understood exactly why he and Colette had been so pivotal in the peace talks. The former Chosen. The potential vessels for her. The actual vessel, in Colette's case.

Zelos grinned at her, bright and beaming. "Welcome to Meltokio!" His shoulders moved, like he'd been about to instinctively do something, but he stopped himself. "So. First impressions of our city beautiful?"

"It's…daunting."

His grin went jaded for a moment. "Then it's doing its job."

Zelos was more than happy to show her Meltokio. It was his city; he knew every alleyway, every curiosity. But there were many things that were curiosities only to Martel, so when he had to go back to his political business, he made sure she knew how to get to his home—mansion—and sent her off with a wink and a "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Meltokio felt oddly familiar. Martel had never spent much time in the human capital, but Meltokio was not its carbon copy. There were half-elven influences here too. Particularly in the lower rings; the way the houses were built and the colors of the doors. It was a belief that had been old when Martel was growing up. She was surprised to see it had even survived. People painted their doors in the colors of the Spirit they wished to guard their home. The meaning behind the tradition hadn't survived, but the colors did.

Zelos' mansion was something else. Cold and unfeeling, despite the tasteful decoration trying to masquerade otherwise. The painting of Mylene Wilder was a bit off-putting; Martel knew that Mitho, Yuan and Kratos had controlled the bloodlines of people to adjust their mana signature to match hers, but she had never quite seen much physical proof. Mylene Wilder was a lot of that proof. She had the regal bearing of an elf, her hair not golden, but rather a paler blonde. And her eyes. Icy blue, like her son's. Like Colette's would be, if she wasn't so sweet-tempered.

Martel appreciated the rest that she was able to get here in Meltokio, even though she explored the city on her own, finding libraries and markets and souvenir shops. _(She is still not accustomed to travelling alone. She finds herself thinking of comments to say to Yuan, things to show to Mithos, little places to point out to Kratos because he likes those kinds of places. It always hurts to turn and not see anyone there)_

Her sleeping patterns were off. There were days when she couldn't get enough sleep, curled into bed until the afternoon and there were sometimes two, three days when she would go without sleep. Her brain was on overdrive, she knew and that was probably the reason. Besides reorganizing memories, it was also trying to take in all the new memories she was making.

It was one sleepless night that she made her way downstairs, intending to make some tea and perhaps sit outside, in the garden. Martel hadn't been expecting to see Zelos, sitting at the piano bench, but not playing. Simply sitting and staring at the keys.

"Is something wrong?" Martel asked. Her voice seemed very loud in the silence.

Zelos turned and grinned, but she recognized it for what it was. An automatic masking reaction. "Morning. Or evening, depending on your point of view."

"It's still evening for me." Martel sat beside him. She had never learned to play piano; she hadn't even seen one until after the War, in one of the human general's houses. The elves had no pianos. They had flutes and pipes and lutes. And on the road and battlefield, music was a luxury. "What about you?"

Zelos stiffened a little, like he hadn't really expected her to ask. As little as she knew about him, Martel could tell that Zelos wasn't used to people asking or caring about him. _(It reminds her of Kratos, back then. Back when he still flinched at a raised hand and had been surprised that people even noticed he was alive)_ "…Evening for me too."

Martel could ask for details, but she'd had enough sleepless nights of her own to know that talking about it didn't always help. "…I have a request."

Zelos spread his arms. "Name it."

"You won't like it," Martel warned quietly.

The instant she said that, Zelos' arms dropped and his shoulders went tight. "What is it?"

"…I want to see the Church."

He stared at her. "The Church? Like…the cathedral here in Meltokio?"

"Yes."

"Why would you want to see that?"

Martel leaned forward, pressing her hands together because there were days that she thought she didn't have the strength to do things. This was one of those days. "I need to see it. I need to see the extent of what they did."

Zelos' eyes were unreadable. "…Are you trying to find a way to forgive them?" _(Because he can't. He will always hate Mithos, Yuan and Kratos for what they did, for what they put him all of them through. For creating the system of the Chosen. For making his life the way it is, he hates them)_

"Sometimes. Mostly, I just want to understand. It doesn't make sense to me." Martel looked away; sometimes, she felt so out of place that it hurt to look at people, at the world. This world that wasn't hers. These people that she shouldn't know. "The people that I knew wouldn't have done this. They couldn't have."

"People change."

"I know that logically. I-I'm trying to _see_ it now." To see it in more places than the infinite sadness in Kratos and Yuan's eyes, in their changed smiles and scarred bodies.

"…Okay." Zelos stood, brushing imaginary dust from his pants. "Let's go."

"What, now? It's the middle of the night."

The grin he gave her was off and false in an almost obvious way. "Best time to go."

He had a key. The Chosen was always given the key—"In case of sudden religious epiphanies or need to commune or whatever," Zelos explained—and the Church had conveniently forgotten to take it back when his title had been removed. Zelos had seen no reason to remind them about it.

The Martel Cathedral was the largest religious building in Tethe'alla. The Martel Chapel in Iselia was large, but not as impressive; most of its size was in the side areas where religious artifacts were kept. Martel Cathedral was imposingly tall, its spires reaching for the sky. There were rows of stained glass windows on either side and the front doors were twice the size of a man.

Zelos allowed Martel inside first; he stayed near the door, out of the way and really, when he was in this place, he preferred to be near an exit. She walked inside, tense and wary, her staff in hand.

Inside, on either side of the aisle were the rows of pews and several decorated columns braced a vaulted ceiling. The walls were deceptively bare of any tapestries or paintings and despite Tethe'alla having fully functional electricity, the Cathedral was lit mostly by candles, from the looks of it. Behind the altar stood a tall statue of a winged woman.

"Who is that?" Martel asked, though she feared she already knew the answer.

"The Awakened Goddess," Zelos answered. He knew all the scripture by heart, knew the 'holy' lineage, could recite every prayer. "…Did they tell you all of it?"

"They told me the story they started." Martel looked back at him. _(For a moment, a strange feeling wells up in him. Because her eyes are both young and old, whatever age she might look. And right now, she looks so far away, despite being right beside him and for a moment, he sees her features in that winged statue. For a moment, she is the goddess)_ "They can't be responsible for all of it, though."

Zelos shook his head. "No. You know people—they're more than capable of taking things and claiming it as their own."

Martel turned towards one side, towards the windows. The moonlight shone through them, but it was still difficult to make out the full images. Martel summoned some witchlight in order to see them properly. "What stories are those?"

Zelos followed her eyes. "From left to right: The Death of the Hero. The Ascension of the Goddess. The Annunciation of the Chosen. The Trials. The Tower of Salvation. The Awakening of the Goddess."

"How many Chosen have there been? Do you know?"

"Not off the top of my head, but—" Zelos crossed the room, going to one of the side rooms that they used for keeping books. He took a dusty tome off the shelf and came back outside. He sat in one of the pews, gesturing for Martel to join him. He cracked the book open, flipping pages until he found the beginning of the list. "The Church keeps record of all the Chosens. Well, they keep record of everything." Zelos flipped page until he found the end of the list, with his name. And right above it, his father's. "Roughly….Well, I'm number seventy-six, according to this, but there were riots, about twenty-five years ago, against the Church. There was a lot of information lost then; a lot of fires. So…there's somewhere between seventy-six and eighty Chosen from Tethe'alla."

"And probably the same from Sylvarant."

"Around that number, yeah. It gets tricky 'cause when one of us dies, another Chosen is named, so it kind of depends on how chaotic the times are. Lately, Sylvarant's had more of them because times have been harder over there."

Martel nodded in understanding, sitting back to look at the cathedral again. "…I tried to come here on my own, you know. I'd get as far as the front steps. But every time…I got scared. I was so afraid of what I'd find."

"And? How does this compare?"

"It's terrible." She looked over at him, remembering what Sheena had told her. "There's no mention of the Summon Spirits?"

"In some versions of scripture, there are. They mention how they chose to help the Hero. In the newer versions, they got censored out. Only high-ranking members of the Church have access to those censored scriptures now."

"People don't believe in them anymore. That's what Sheena said."

Zelos took a long breath. "She's right. They believe they exist, in a distant way, but that's about it. Oh, and we still celebrate some of the festivals, like Celsius Day. Mizuho is really the only human place that still worships them in any form, even though they still adopted the Church's faith. I don't know much about the traditions—mostly just what I've seen and heard from Sheena."

"They erased them. They tried to erase them from history."

Zelos nodded. "Even a lot of the legends have been lost. The constellations—they're not the same ones you probably knew." He'd seen some of the books on Derris-Kharlan, from over the centuries. Astrological advancements and myths. He hadn't known a lot of those stories.

 _(The Spirits had been friends of theirs. Comrades. And they_ erased _them from history, from people's memories and minds…it's sickening)_

"Thank you. For showing me this."

Martel's hand went in her pocket to play with the ring. Her boys had twisted and warped so much of the world. And themselves. She couldn't make that fit with the men she'd grown with, who'd teased and hugged her, who'd sipped tea with her in the mornings and cried with her over dead friends. The men who'd taken care of her, with their patience and their gentleness. Those men couldn't have wrought destruction like this, right?

* * *

Martel visited both Temples of Earth and Darkness, with some of Zelos' help. She brought candles and said the prayers. Shadow's Temple had always been difficult to get to and it made Martel uncomfortable as soon as she stepped foot inside. She didn't like the dark, especially not one so thick that she couldn't even see her hand in front of her face, couldn't even see the candles she was lighting. Martel knew that Shadow's darkness wasn't the evil kind; it was the darkness of the womb, the darkness of the night sky, of your own shadow right beside you.

Gnome's Temple was familiar, even though Martel had only ever been there once; it was the dirt beneath her palms when she gardened, the boulders she sat on to rest her feet, warmed by the sun. She sat on the steps in front of the altar for a good while, listening to the noises of the Temple as the candles burned. She was comfortable, here, even so far underground.

_(She thinks, vaguely, that she can hide here. Hide from a world she doesn't know and people she can't recognize)_

Zelos went with her to the pier, several miles out from Meltokio. "I'd go with you to Palmacosta, but—"

"You're needed here," Martel finished. "It's okay. It's only, what, a four days' journey? That's not so bad."

"Stay safe," Zelos told her as the boat's horn blared for boarding. He froze a little when she hugged him quickly, not invading his personal space for too long.

"Thank you again," Martel told him. "For everything."

* * *

Martel was surprised to see a familiar face on the Palmacosta docks. Genis was sitting on some crates, bouncing his heels, a book in hand. When he looked up and saw her, he grinned and waved before hopping down to meet her.

"Nice to see you made it," he said. "How was your trip?"

"Um, fine. The seas were calm, thankfully. How did you know I was coming?"

"Well, I went to visit last week, but Yuan and Kratos said you'd gone. I figured you were going to drop by Palmacosta eventually and Sheena mentioned you'd left Meltokio."

_(Sheena and Zelos have an odd relationship, that much Martel knows. She doesn't quite understand it because she's seen them go from grinning and teasing like old friends to icy silences. She wonders how often they talk, how much they share with each otehr)_

"So you come to the docks every morning?"

"Only when there's boats from Meltokio coming in. Besides, it's a nice change from the Academy," Genis said as they weaved through the busy docks. Some of the piers looked old and sturdy while others looked like they were built quite hastily. Martel had heard that Palmacosta had taken a serious blow from the Great Tree's rampage _(She has distant memories of that, in her dreams. Those are memories she tries not to look at too closely)_ but seeing it was a different matter.

"How _is_ the Academy going?"

"I should be graduating by the end of the year." He looked up at her. Genis was at that unfortunate stage that happened to most half-elves where he was going on fourteen years old, but still looked like a child. _(He reminds her of Mithos. He'd been coming out of that stage a bit when she'd died...)_ "Are you hungry?"

"Starving."

"Good. I know an awesome place you have to try." He led her through some half-collapsed streets, constantly glancing back to make sure she was keeping up. The place they ended up at was a tiny hole in the wall, but it smelled like heaven.

Martel read through the menu, fascinated. There seemed to be every combination of meat and noodles possible and with so many sauces! One of the waitresses came by the table they chose, by the window. "Hey, Genis. Your usual?"

"Yes, please. Martel?"

"May I have the pork curry? And some water?"

The waitress scribbled it down obediently before taking the menus. "I'll be back in a minute with your drinks."

"They certainly know you well."

"This place is pretty popular with Academy students. Good food that won't break their budgets. Cooking at home gets expensive." Not that Genis couldn't afford it. After the journey, everyone in the party had been pretty well off with the money they'd collected, even after helping Luin rebuild.

Their food was ready quickly and Martel was grateful for the icy water. The four day voyage from Meltokio had left her rather thirsty.

Genis also had some noodle combination, with a lot of broccoli and carrots. In between bites, he asked, "How have you been?"

"I've been fine. Really. My legs hurt more than I'd like, but it's less and less every day." She relished in how her legs looked, healthy and strong. No longer was she a walking skeleton with her flesh shrunken to cling to bone.

"That's great, but," Genis met her eyes and she saw the age behind them, the wisdom that was beyond his years. "That's not really what I was asking about. How's it been with the memories?"

Martel took a few thoughtful bites before she answered. "…the nightmares come and go." There were nights that she had dreams, such good dreams, that she didn't want to wake up. She was never sure if she preferred those nights to the nights she woke up screaming. "I get headaches a lot of the time. And sometimes…I see ghosts."

Genis didn't seem surprised by that last sentence. "But you're not as confused anymore, at least. That's a lot of progress."

"No, I—I think I'm still plenty confused."

His blue-gray eyes went to his noodles and he moved some of it around absent-mindedly. "…he wasn't all bad. Even at the end. Mithos, I mean."

She nearly dropped her fork. "He wasn't?" _(She remembers only looking out from someone else's eyes and seeing all his broken places, watching him shatter at her words)_

Genis shook his head. "He—he was my friend. And I know he was just…playing a part. He was the only other half-elf kid I'd ever met. And I think, in some way, I was his friend too. Even Lloyd was his friend, in some part of him. And he—he wouldn't just surrender. He asked us to kill him."

Martel's grip tightened on her glass. She wanted more strength, strength enough to shatter the glass right here, watch the shards fly and reflect. "Stop."

His eyes snapped up to hers, like at some point, he hadn't even been aware of what he was saying. "I'm sorry."

She felt bad an instant later; they might not have said it out loud, but she could guess most of the group's opinions about Mithos. She couldn't imagine that Genis could have spoken to any of them about it, not like this. In his mind, while they'd done the right thing, he'd still helped kill a friend.

"It's—" Martel's first instinct was to say it was okay, but she thought better of it. "I just—don't really know how to think about it. The future, I mean. Even the present. I never…I've taken care of Mithos his whole life. We didn't have anybody else. So…to hear that he's gone, even after all he did…"

"It's something from a nightmare, right?" Genis finished quietly. Martel remembered then that Genis and Raine were like her and Mithos. "Like you're stuck in this nightmare, but you don't get the luxury of waking up. When we were all stuck in Mithos' traps, up on Derris-Kharlan…he separated us all. The traps were lethal; we wouldn't have made it if it weren't for Zelos." He bit his lip and Martel's heart hurt. Just a boy and he'd seen too many dark things. "I thought the last thing I'd ever see of Raine was her standing by the computers in a crumbling room…And I remember thinking, right before my trap was going to close on me that at least I wouldn't be living alone. I couldn't picture life without her, y'know?"

_(Martel wants to hug him. It's instinctive—because he really does remind her of Mithos—and she wants to protect him in any way she can, even if it's just keeping the bad thoughts and memories away)_

Martel made sure he met her eyes when she said, "It—she's okay. She's safe, you know that?" Because she'd seen too many soldiers with hollow eyes who couldn't get their minds unstuck from the battlefield, from the falling bombs and the gunfire.

Genis shook himself a little. "Yeah, I know. It's just…sometimes I just need to talk to her, y'know?"

To remind himself that she was okay. "Yes, I do."

"But I think I bother her, sometimes. 'Cause she likes to stay so busy."

"You're not a bother to her. I promise." Martel smiled reassuringly. "Trust me on that one. I think she'd prefer to hear from you more often, actually."

He returned the smile, slightly hesitant. "Thanks, Martel."

* * *

Genis was staying in one of the dorm rooms of the Academy and naturally, there was no space for Martel. While she was in Palmacosta, she stayed in an inn that was halfway still being rebuilt. It looked like a tornado had gone through the left half, but there were still two rooms available.

While Genis was at school, Martel explored what she could. The city had been badly damaged and there were still a lot of injured people. Martel saw them walking with crutches or canes, arms in slings or even gone entirely. _(None of it is new to her. She has seen worse injuries, but to see these people trying to help in spite of those injuries is inspiring)_

After seeing so many injured, she stopped one of them, asking where the nearest clinic was. The man pointed to the building and she thanked him. She took her staff and went in cautiously. She could smell the poultices and the medicine and the smell calmed her.

A haggard looking woman came up to her. "Need the help or you lookin' for someone?"

Martel cleared her throat. "Neither, actually. I want to help."

"Help?"

"Yes, I'm a Healer."

Martel saw the woman take in what that meant. Humans couldn't use magic. Not naturally. So she had to be an elf or a half-elf and Martel had never been able to pass for a full-blooded elf, not like Mithos had. Necessity seemed to take over prejudice, however, because the woman said, "How good are ya?"

"Give me the ones that are worst off."

Martel spent her day that way, disinfecting and sealing up wounds with magic. It was comforting to use magic like this again, to heal rather than hurt. _(She can see Yuan so clearly in her mind, when he tried to wake her from the nightmare, his half-healed chest, how gingerly he moved)_ A lot of the injuries were older; bad burns partially healed and badly healed broken bones.

She couldn't blame them; Sylvarant had been the declining world, according to Kratos and Yuan. A lot of the scientific knowledge had been lost. Ordinary people couldn't be expected to know as much as doctors. They were helping; that was more than could be expected of most.

So when patients came to her with aching arms and knees because they had been set wrongly, Martel had to explain to them that she could fix it, but she would have to rebreak the bone, possibly the entire leg, to make sure it would heal properly. Some people agreed. Others were too afraid to try.

Martel was careful with them, let them scream into a rag when the bone was broken and he carefully healed what she could and set the splints about the legs so the bones wouldn't shift. She could heal broken bones with magic, but she had to conserve her mana; there were many healings to be done.

Genis came to find her hours later. She was sipping water and munching on some crackers because she hadn't eaten in a while. _(Her boys used to take turns reminding her to stop, to eat and rest, to get some air, to sleep. Mithos had been bold, had stepped right in and told her straight to her face that she was overtaxing herself. Kratos had just sat in a chair, waiting with a plate of food, until the smell and her stomach grumbling would make her follow him outside. Yuan had coaxed her out, gently at first and he would get firm if she tried being stubborn)_ Genis looked like he was used to doing the same for Raine.

"I asked around and they said a woman of your description was in here. C'mon. Let's grab some dinner."

Dinner that night was seafood and rice all on a heated wok. It tasted fantastic and Martel dug in. One of those woks was enough for the both of them to eat. Genis told her about the day, what he'd learned. They hadn't brought up Mithos since that first night, but things were less awkward between them now.

The next night, Genis introduced her to Chocolat and her mother, Cacao, who ran a store called Marble's. They stayed for dinner and Martel helped chop the vegetables as she talked with Cacao. She could hear Chocolat and Genis catching up as they set the table; Genis had told her the short version as they walked there from the clinic. Chocolat's grandmother had been in the Iselia Human Ranch. Her Exsphere had been removed and Lloyd and Genis had been forced to kill her. After Chocolat had rebelled and gotten herself captured, she'd refused to be saved by her grandmother's murderers. And then Chocolat had been taken to the Iselia Ranch too. It was there that she'd heard about her grandmother and the truth about what happened that day, so she'd forgiven Genis and Lloyd for what they'd done.

"Genis tells me you were a tour guide?" Martel asked Chocolat before taking a bite of the chicken and vegetable pot pie.

Chocolat nodded. "Yeah, I worked for the Church of Martel Travel Agency. I would take people to certain places on their pilgrimages. Holy spots, y'know? Like places where Spiritua did some great deed and things like that."

Martel was careful to phrase her next sentence carefully. "I heard that there was no goddess? That it was all some crazy deception by Cruxis?"

"That's what Genis told me."

"Did that hurt business?"

"No. If anything, it helped. A lot of people need to find their own answers, so they go trying to find the goddess or something else to believe in on the way. I hear a lot of people who are travelling to the World Tree found some Spirit over there."

"No kidding? Didn't think they still existed." She could feel Genis' expression, but she ignored it.

"Neither did we."

Genis managed to derail that conversation, but Martel could tell that he was going to grill her about it later. And he did.

On the way back to the inn, he asked, "Why are you so curious about that stuff?"

Martel walked with her hands in her pockets. Colette and the others had found her some dresses with pockets, which were pretty damn wonderful. "...I need to know. It's…I know what they did; I know the facts. But I don't know the context. I didn't know these worlds. I didn't know their problems, their opinions. I need to see how far they went."

"They brainwashed four thousand years' worth of people that you were a goddess," Genis said quietly. "They took them prisoner. Tortured them. Experimented on them. Millions were killed in the ranches alone."

"I know." And she wondered how Yuan had had the stomach to do that, with his numbers inked on his arm, with the memory of his brother's brand seared into his mind. With the scars of lashes on his back and the ghostly imprints of manacles about his wrists.

"And you still want to forgive them."

Martel looked down at him. His jaw was stubbornly set, his eyes hard. "…Yes, I do. I don't know if I _can_ , but I want to try."

"…That's hard to do."

_(Who has he not forgiven? Mithos, for all his sins? Lloyd, for murdering the friend-turned-traitor? Or is it himself, for whatever perceived wrongs he's done?)_

"Yes, it is." Martel smiled a little, mostly to herself, as she thought of them. Her boys—for that's what they would always be, regardless of age and time and shared pain. "But they're worth it."

* * *

 _I took a walk around the world to ease my troubled mind_  
_I left my body lying somewhere in the sands of time_  
_I watched the world flip to the dark side of the moon_

* * *

"She's doing fine."

Yuan turned another page in his book and didn't look up at the speaker. The one day he decided to read outside to enjoy the sunshine and of course he was interrupted. "Has anyone told you how eloquent you are, Ms. Fujibayashi?"

Sheena rolled her eyes. She'd gotten past what Yuan had done and orchestrated against the group, but sometimes, she just didn't have the patience for him. "I got word back from my informers. Martel's doing fine. She left Palmacosta two days ago."

She might not actually know Yuan all that well, but she was pretty decent at body language and she saw the vague relaxation of his shoulders, the slight loosening of his hands on the book.

"I appreciate your help," he said. "Thank you."

"Y'know, Raine's right."

Yuan eyed her warily. Raine and Sheena, for whatever reasons, tended to disagree on most things. He'd learned self-preservation when those two agreed on anything. "About what?"

She flashed him a mischievous grin. "Your manners _are_ getting better."

"Don't you have a village to run?"

That made her laugh. "They're not helpless without me. But I'll leave you to your book."

Yuan leaned a little more against the boulder at his back, soaking in its warmth. _(She's safe, she's okay. He has nightmares, still, but lately, they have been new ones. Of finding Martel's body in the dirt, her short hair splayed about her. Of her new sundresses stained with blood. He trembles at the thought of what he and Kratos would do at that point…)_

* * *

Martel didn't want to linger very long in Asgard. This city, more than the others that she'd visited, had the weight of the millennia in its very bones. She walked into the caves, saw the carvings and the paintings and knew that she was older than them. The people who had created them had lived and died while she'd been asleep. She walked up the mountain steps to a stone dais from an entire dynasty that had risen and fallen centuries ago.

Martel stepped off the street and balanced on the edge of the cliff, looking down into the bowels of the earth. She knew this scar, knew exactly what had caused it. The humans' Mana Cannon. Before, according to Yuan, there had been a fountain here. This was where the market had been.

There was nothing of them left. Nothing of their people, their homes, the places they knew and lived. All of it had been eradicated. There was no memorial, no graveyard to mark the place where their friends and comrades had died, been buried. No reminder of their sacrifices _(And there had been so many…)_

Except for them. Because Martel knew that Kratos and Yuan wouldn't have allowed themselves to forget a single name, a single person. _(They live their nightmare every day. They see the faces of the dead in their sleep and the waking world is an alien one, out of time. It's not enough.)_

She stayed three days in Asgard, listening to the wind whistle through the cliffs. It was on her final day that she ran into Raine, at the bottom of the steps that led to the stone dais.

"Martel," Raine said, surprised.

"Hello, Raine. What brings you out here?"

"Asgard has one of the largest half-elf populations in Sylvarant. If we're going to start introducing laws for equality, we need their input and they need to be kept informed about what's going on in Meltokio."

"The humans don't deserve that same right?" Martel asked.

"Of course they do. But they aren't fed misinformation and are allowed access to it. Half-elves are still oppressed these days."

"I didn't think for a second that they weren't. It's good that you're helping."

"You're making good progress. I didn't think you'd be all the way here by now."

Martel smiled, coming a few stray strands out of her face. She'd been tying her hair up as long as she was in Asgard; the wind could put some impressive knots in her hair, even as short as it was. "It's thanks to your skill, that I can even stand right now."

"How do you like Asgard?"

"Heh, well…it's sturdy, that's for sure. I was rather surprised to see it still standing."

"Still—Asgard is from your time?" Raine hadn't found any evidence to support that, but it was perfectly possible. Geologists from Palmacosta's Academy had been baffled by the layers of earth that lay beneath Asgard. Some of it was older than the Balacruft Dynasty, but not enough to make out anything definitive.

"Yes. It was mostly a half-elven village then, with maybe a human or elf in the mix, but there were generations of half-elves living there." Martel inclined her head, indicating the homes carved into the cliffs on the far side of town. That was where most of the half-elves lived. "Perhaps the ones living here are descended from them."

"Did you know this village well?"

Martel shook her head. "No. I only ever came here once. But Yuan spoke of it enough that I felt like I knew it."

Well then. Raine made a mental note to ask Yuan about Asgard the next time she saw him. He certainly owed her more than a small favor; she could accept answers as payment.

"I should be going," Martel said. "I was actually on my way out."

"Where are you headed?"

"Luin. To my understanding, it's not that far from here."

"About a day and a half's walk." She tilted her head, as though appraising Martel. "I think you'll like Luin."

"Really?"

Raine nodded. "It's a very unique city. Very tough."

That made Martel laugh a little. Cities were like their people. "Thank you, for everything."

"I needed to thank you, actually."

Martel blinked at her. "What for?"

"Genis. He visited me after you left Palmacosta. Said you gave him the idea."

 _(The look on Martel's face reminds Raine: she is an older sister, practically a mother, too)_ "He missed you. Don't let him grow up too quickly."

"I don't intend to."

* * *

Raine was right: Martel kind of fell in love with the city of Luin. It was a city of possibility, she believed. Because she could see it; the people had hard, wary eyes. When they saw strangers, their hands went to the knives at their belts. They had known fear and oppression, had seen this city brought to ruin. _(She has heard what the Desians did to Luin. And she knows what Lloyd and the others did to help get it back on its feet. Raine was right: this city is tough, but it is also blooming)_

The city smelled fresh and clean, though Martel knew that she could probably find an undercurrent of ash if she tried. She didn't want to try. It was autumn, now, and some of the trees had turned red and golden _(Like they'd been on her wedding day)_. It was well into the afternoon by now and there were children in the streets, playing and racing, their laughter ringing through the air. The adults kept a watchful eye from porch chairs and open windows.

She could see the statues of Sheena, Lloyd and Raine from here. Luin was not yet a tall city, only a sprawling one, draped over and around the lake. Martel bought her food from a cart, duck meat with sauce inside a doughy bun. She munched on it while wandering through. There were a few brave souls swimming in the lake, though the water must have been freezing at this time of year.

_(New as this city is, it's good at making her remember. Splashing in the surf, water about their calves. Mithos' shrieks of laughter as Martel hauled him over her shoulders, tickling him. Kratos' grin and his indignant expression when Yuan dunked him into the waves, an action that promptly began a wrestling match…)_

As the sun set and the kids were called inside, an older man, perhaps mid-thirties, said, "Miss, you shouldn't be out by yourself after dark."

Martel blinked out of her thoughts. The man's brown hair was fluffy and unruly and his face had the beginnings of gentle lines. "What?"

He repeated himself before adding, "Only 'cause I know you're new to town. What, no room at the inn?"

Martel smiled a little. "I hadn't checked. Got too caught up, I guess."

"Yeah, this town does that to you." The man held out a hand. "I'm Peter."

"Martel." She had asked if she should give people a false name, but Kratos had shaken his head and told her that both Martel and Mithos were perfectly common names nowadays, Martel a bit less so. "It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise. What brings you to Luin?"

"I'm on a journey." Martel rolled the thought around in her mind. "More like a pilgrimage."

"We get a lot of those through here. Care to join me for supper? I want to hear more of your travels."

"It would be a pleasure."

They traded stories over biscuits and vegetable soup. _(Martel had thought she was done eating just bread and broth very early in her recovery, but she can't complain)_ Peter told her how Luin was doing, how well-recovered it was. He'd been there when the town was destroyed; he'd been taken prisoner. He'd been in the group set free by Lloyd and the others.

Martel couldn't help it, but her eyes flicked to both his bare forearms, searching for inked numbers. She relaxed when she couldn't find any. _(It doesn't mean that he hadn't suffered, that his ordeals had been any less. She shouldn't find it relaxing, but she does)_

"Where are you from? Originally?"

"…Heimdall." It wasn't even a lie.

"Heimda—oh, you're Tethe'allan." Martel nodded. "Your kind don't usually travel near Sylvarant."

She tensed instinctively. Her kind. It was a casual thing—probably not even meant in a negative connotation—but she'd had enough of people filing her away into their own boxes. "Well, with that kind of reception, of course they don't."

"You think I'm prejudiced—that's not true—"

"Isn't it?" Martel crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in her chair. This was a familiar battlefield. "You act like Tethe'allans are separate from you, like you're not from the same world."

"We're not. Their world is something completely different."

"The two worlds were a lie and an abomination." She didn't mean to snap, but she wasn't about to apologize. "They're different, but we can learn from each other, _help_ each other."

"They don't want anything to do with us. They think we're nothing more than dumb peasants."

"You don't seem to be doing much to prove them wrong."

Peter's eyes narrowed at her. "You talk like you're not one of them."

 _(She's not. She's so far removed from all this that sometimes, it makes her reel)_ "I don't like the idea of two sides. Both territories need the help and if we were actually willing to get along for more than five seconds, we could really accomplish something."

"You people don't have that kind of diplomacy."

"Maybe you're right." Martel stood, grabbing her staff from the corner. "Because I certainly don't have the patience to try and reason with blind hatred. Thank you for the meal." She shut the door loudly behind her.

* * *

Martel sat on a little dock, cross-legged, curled into herself. The anger and the disgust was writhing in her stomach and she hated it. She didn't want to feel this; she tried to be better than those who had discriminated against her, those who had thrown stones and spells at her, but sometimes, she couldn't deal with it.

 _(A naïve part of her had wanted to believe that things are easier in this time. That four thousand years is plenty of time for people to learn from their mistakes, but they_ haven't _. They've just found different reasons to hate)_

She stared at her reflection in the water below her. It was difficult to see in the sparse moonlight, but she could still pick out the triangular ears, the slanted eyes. All from her elven mother. She didn't look much like her, really. Mithos had always had the resemblance in that department. She looked more like her grandmother, though her green hair had paled over the years to almost silver in the photos that Martel had seen. But she had her father's eyes.

She'd loved her father. He'd been so bright, so energetic. He'd played with her in the mud and raced her through the trees. Had danced with her in the rain as Mama looked on with Mithos still barely months old. He'd been the one to pick her up when the other kids teased her for her hair or for her weird eyes and ears, all less refined than a true elf's. He'd been the one to kiss her temple and call her beautiful and she missed him so much some days. The way he was before Mama died—she'd been sick. Sicker beyond even elven magic—because after she was gone, he'd faded away. Had died of heartbreak— a human's weakness, or so her aunt and uncle said—less than a year later.

For a brief, terrible moment, she saw Mithos' face in her reflection. Saw him as she'd last seen him, broken and insane and she scrambled backwards, terrified. _(Raine is right and Martel knows it. She has that potential, she can break that far, can shatter into little pieces until she doesn't know who she is anymore. If she feels too much, if the grief and rage get to her, she can do what Mithos had…)_

Martel slept on that little pier that night. She couldn't quite bring herself to her feet, to walk to the inn. She slept curled into crates of autumn squash and nets that smelled of fish, drawing Yuan's cloak closer around her. It didn't quite smell like him anymore; it smelled of road dirt and dust, of grass and rain. She pretended she could still smell him though. She knew his scent, then and now. Ozone, tree oil and rain, like a storm on the horizon. She fished her ring from her pocket, turning it in her hands, relearning the familiar curves and shine of gold and steel.

_(She has trouble getting to sleep that night, haunted by Mithos' face, both as she'd last seen it and how it had looked above her as she laid dying, tears streaming down his face, disbelief and terror written in all the familiar lines)_

* * *

The Tower of Mana was destroyed. It hurt Martel somewhere she hadn't known existed to look at the ruins of a once-proud beacon of learning and serenity. She clambered through the debris, not entirely sure what she was looking for. She stepped over crushed tomes and burnt pages, some of the machines still sparking sadly.

This Tower had not been from her time. Luna and Aska had had a beautiful temple back then, with many windows and open spaces to let in the light, moonstones decorating the columns and the tops of the doorways. This Tower was a very different version of it, more for utility than worship.

Martel jumped when she felt something nudge her in the back, whirling around, staff in front of her. Her breath caught when she saw who it had been. Aska, in all his glowing beauty, was perched on one of the broken walls, wings held out for balance as his two heads were stuck out near her for inspection.

"Aska," she breathed before remembering her manners and bowed before the Spirit before looking back up.

One of the beaks opened, the voice slow and warm, like the depths of summer. "Hello, Lady."

"It's been a long time." Martel lowered her staff, curling her arm around it. "…You've suffered because of me."

Aska took a few steps closer. "The fault does not lie with you."

"If I had been strong enough to fight those humans off, if I'd thought to bring someone with me instead of going out on my own—none of this would have happened."

A beak gently nudged her cheek, rubbing against it. The other beak did the speaking. "The word 'if' is useless when referring to the past. What has happened, happened. Assigning blame is useless." Those large, red-gold eyes—like a sunset—were gentle and full of sorrow. _(He, of all the Spirits, understands why Mithos did what he did. He knows what it is to be so absolutely devoted to someone. Just as he cannot function without Luna, Mithos had been lost when Martel died)_ "All we can do is move forward."

"I'm trying." One of Martel's hands came up to gently stroke at the side of Aska's neck. A low trill of pleasure came from that head. "It's…harder than I thought it would be."

"Your comrades live. They would help you."

"I know. But they…they've changed. They're not the men I remember. And the things they've done—I don't know if I can live with that."

The Spirit tilted his head. "They are repenting. The three of you have great power, together or separate. You changed the course of history once. I believe you can change it again, but for the better."

Martel met those lovely eyes. She couldn't hold his gaze for very long; it was like looking into the sun. "…I hadn't thought of it that way."

Birds couldn't smile, but Martel felt like Aska was as he gently touched one of his beaks to her nose. "I know. I will take my leave now, Lady, but if you have need of me, call and I will come."

Martel closed her eyes against the shine of him as he vanished, but she bowed to where he'd been anyway and let the wind carry her thanks.

* * *

A few miles out from Iselia, Noishe bounded up to her, nearly knocking her off her feet. Martel laughed to see him, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his nose. She allowed his inspection, his nose sniffing and intelligent eyes searching for any hint that she wasn't well.

"I've been _fine_ ," Martel insisted. "Really. Haven't even caught a cold." It probably had something to do with all those strengthening and preservation spells that Raine and Mithos had put on her, but those would wane with time.

Noishe huffed a little, but he offered his back to ride; a truce. Martel thought about turning down the offer—she was perfectly capable of walking the rest, after all—but then she thought about her feet and the ache that was developing in their arches, so she clambered up onto his back. It was much easier than it had been when he'd been a bird.

A few miles to a protozoan was nothing; it took Noishe twenty minutes to get there and he wasn't rushing. He stopped a little bit outside the gates, where Martel could see a familiar person in red. Lloyd met her with a hug and grin. _(When he grins, he doesn't really look like Kratos. He looks like someone else, someone Martel hopes is Anna)_

He walked with her around Iselia, showing her the grape vines and the tomato plants—he wrinkled his nose at that and Martel bit down a laugh at the expression because _that_ , that was pure Kratos—introduced her to the people he'd grown up with. She smiled politely at them, always slightly awkward in front of strangers, especially once she saw their eyes flick to her ears. She wasn't sure if it was because of Lloyd's presence that they didn't say anything, but the light chats were pleasant enough.

"Where's Colette?"

"Genis picked her up so they could visit the Professor," Lloyd said. "She should be back in a few days. Maybe less."

Martel forgot about their Rheairds sometimes, about how easy travel could be. But she liked the earth below her, likes solid ground. Flying had never been a big dream of hers.

Lloyd showed her the school where Raine taught and where they'd first seen the oracle from. There was a Temple, out closer to the cliffs. There was a Summon Spirit there, one that Martel had never heard of. Verius, Spirit of the Heart. Lloyd explained how Verius came into being, how he had originally been an experiment at the Research Academy named Corrine. Sheena had bonded with him and Corrine had died for her. He became a Spirit because of the hearts of the group.

Martel smiled at the end of the story. "Yes. I imagine that all of you have very strong hearts."

"I think you do too."

She glanced over at him, surprised. _(He is blunt and honest and she remembers when Kratos had been like that. He is still like that, when he chooses to break his silences)_ "…Thank you."

* * *

Martel had met dwarves before, but Dirk was different. For one, he didn't live underground. That, she would learn, had been for Lloyd's benefit, growing up. She did love the house he had built though. Almost entirely wooden—save for where Dirk had his forge—ivy was growing up along one wall and flowered vines were beginning to twist about the balcony. Plants were everywhere, many potted, but there were also trees growing around the edges of the property, some young enough to still need a stick tied to them for support and others beginning to develop thick trunks, their branches arching.

Noishe ker-plopped inside his stable _(The girl inside Martel, the one raised on Heimdall teachings, is a little affronted at the thought of a protozoan being kept in a stable, but she also knows, logically, that even if they close and lock the door on him, Noishe is powerful enough to break it down, should he feel the need)_. Martel leaned her staff in the corner by the door and took the offered seat in Dirk's dining room. The plants were growing inside too, clinging to the ceiling cracks and moss crept along the support beams.

"It's a pleasure to meet ya at last," Dirk said when they shook hands.

"Likewise. Thank you, for all the help during my recovery."

"No problem." Dirk smiled up at her. "It's good to find someone else that appreciates plants."

Dinner was fresh vegetables and mutton—goats were easier to herd than say, cattle, in a rocky area like this—and Dirk served a cold, sweet tea with mint leaves floating in it.

"The mint leaves are an experiment," Lloyd told her after dinner. "He's trying to figure out different ways to use the mint. He's only got so many recipes."

"Experimenting works."

"Yeah," Lloyd said, before adding darkly, "Unless you're the Professor."

Martel had been told the horror stories that was Raine's cooking. Even _Kratos_ —who Martel knew had eaten half-rotted food in the worst days of the war—had told her the stories from his travels with her. "I'm really glad that I don't have to learn the hard way about that like you guys did."

"You're lucky. We don't have a whole lotta room, so my bed's yours."

"I'm not going to take your bed from you, Lloyd."

"You're the guest!"

She could see him setting his jaw, preparing to dig his heels in about this. "I'll be fine. I'll sleep with Noishe, so he won't get anxious." He opened his mouth, but she didn't let him start. _(She's used to this, has been dealing with this exact brand of stubbornness for half her life. It may have taken Kratos some time to grow a backbone, but once he had, he'd argued people into the ground with it. She'd argued him right back)_ "And I'm going to tell you this now, but there's no way you're winning this one, Lloyd. I'm not an invalid anymore. I can take a few nights on the ground. It's not cold outside and Noishe is there if anything were to happen."

He bit his lip, but she was right and he knew it. "Okay. G'night, Martel."

"Goodnight, Lloyd."

* * *

They were washing dishes the next night—Lloyd washing, Martel drying—when she spoke up. "…Lloyd, may I ask you a favor?'

The swordsman passed her a plate. "Yeah, sure. What is it?"

Martel set the plate down and pulled something out of her pocket. Lloyd recognized it instantly; he'd carried Yuan's ring around for months, after all. "Is there any way you can find me a chain?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. I can even make you one, if you wanted." Lloyd bit his lip. This would be sensitive ground. "…Are you and Yuan okay?"

She seemed surprised that he would ask. "…honestly…I don't know."

"But…you love him. Otherwise, you wouldn't be keeping that ring at all, right?" _(She is reminded that he is still only, what, nineteen? A child. Love is simple at nineteen)_

"Yes, I do." Of that, Martel was sure. "But…I don't know if I am okay with that."

"He's done a lot of bad things, but he's a good guy."

"I know. I just don't know if I can live with what he and Kratos have done."

"But you can live with what I did?" Lloyd's voice was suddenly hard, eyes walled up, defensive. _(In that moment, Martel sees Kratos, as he is now. She sees the warrior in him, sees that center of steel)_ "Kratos and Yuan helped us, but _I_ was the one who killed him. You're not avoiding me."

Martel felt the insane urge to laugh, the resemblance was so strong. So blunt with his words, so forthright with his opinions. And he cared so much; Kratos' heart had always been big too.

"It's different with you, Lloyd. You didn't know Mithos before. He was my family, all of our family." Her eyes went to her hands, to the ring, but she didn't really see it. All she could see was Mithos, smiling up at her, freckled and sprawled in the sunshine.

"He was our friend too, for a little while." Lloyd was a soldier then, like so many that Martel had seen. Grim, sorrow in his eyes. "He travelled with us. He even saved us, with your flute." A knot formed in Martel's throat. Her flute. Mithos had kept her flute. "And I could have chosen not to. But, if I hadn't—"

"There _are_ fates worse than death," Martel told him quietly, fists clenched. "He—He died on his own terms. I think if you'd done anything else, it would have just been an insult to his memory."

"But he could have _lived_ with us, in this new world. You could have been together again." Lloyd's voice broke a little towards the end.

"No." Martel surprised herself with her answer. "He—there are some things you don't come back from, Lloyd. I want to think that there was some way he could have come back, could have been sane again, could have turned all that potential into good, but…if I'm being really honest—" And there was something about Aurions that inspired that kind of brutal honesty. "Things would have never been the same. The boy I knew died the same day I did."

Martel felt something inside of her wither at her own words. She stuffed the ring back in her pocket. "I—I have to go."

She didn't grab her staff, didn't even look at Lloyd as she darted past the door, feeling the need deep in her legs to _run_. So she did. She ran until her legs began to protest, sliding against a tree and tucking her knees to her chest. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and she couldn't say when they started. She had _known_ , of course, but that had been merely logic. It was hitting her now, months and months later.

Mithos was dead. Her little brother was gone and he was never coming back. She would never see him beam at her, would never hear him laugh or watch him play. He was gone. Nothing left, but memories. Not even a grave to visit.

A cold nose nudged her jaw and Martel took Noishe's comfort gratefully as he curled about her. She tangled her fingers in his fur, hiding her face in his neck. "He's gone, Noishe," she managed, voice hoarse. "Mithos is gone."

He curled tighter around her, a comforting warmth, letting herself cry and grieve over her little brother.

Martel wouldn't remember falling asleep against Noishe. She would not be aware of him maneuvering her until she was on his back and he brought her back to Dirk's house.

The next morning, Martel would wake to a quilt over her and a mattress beneath her. She blinked blearily, eyelids heavy, eyes feeling so swollen from tears. Noishe was curled at her feet, keeping them quite warm. She twisted a little, trying to find a clock. There was one on the bedside table and Martel reached for it.

It was nearly ten in the morning. As her hand pulled away, Martel felt something by her wrist. She touched it; the something was metal, small and cool. A chain, she realized. An apology.

Martel unclasped it and had to squirm and twist a bit more to get to her pocket. Noishe snuffled and shifted off her feet so she could move freely. She slipped her ring on the chain and put it on. Even though it wasn't the way she'd worn it before, even hanging around her neck, it was a good weight.

_(She hasn't decided yet, if she will be that person. Wife to a former rebel leader, best friend to a traitor, both responsible for genocide and rewriting history. But she won't forget the person she had been. Wife to a sweet man with a sharp smile and a sharper spear, best friend to a quiet teacher who smiled at the pages of his books, sister to a little brother with a loud laugh, a glint of mischief in his eyes and genius in his bones. She refuses to forget that woman, won't dishonor any of their memories—because they are all dead people walking—by doing that…)_

Slipping out of the bed, Martel left Noishe to sleep, kissing the top of his head before she left. Now that she was more awake, she could see that this was Dirk's house and most likely Lloyd's room. She raked her tangled hair from her face and went downstairs.

Lloyd was sharpening something at his forge, the movements practiced and smooth. Martel bid him good morning and smoothed her skirt beneath her before sitting on the bottom step of the stairs. Lloyd returned the good morning, but didn't say anything more as he continued his work. Watching someone do something that they were good at was calming to Martel, as was the sound of a whetstone being passed over metal. _(It reminds her of her boys, doing it by the fireside. It reminds her of Kratos taking Mithos' hand and teaching him the movements and the pressure. It makes her sad at the same time; Kratos never got a chance to teach Lloyd this…)_

As Lloyd finished, Martel spoke up. "I'm sorry. About last night—I was—I wasn't thinking of you. All of you. How much it must have hurt you to do it."

"It's my fault. I started it." Lloyd looked up at her. "I still think he should have lived."

"…I don't, but," Martel smiled a little to herself. "I wish I could think like you. I used to. Maybe I can learn to."

* * *

She was halfway to Triet when he appeared. The man looked unnatural. Dusky skin, pale hair and red red eyes. He didn't look comfortable in his own skin.

"Can I help you?" Martel kept a tight grip on her staff.

"You're really her. Martel."

She stiffened. "How do you know my name?"

The man barked a laugh. "I suppose it makes sense that—" Martel blinked and there wasn't a man standing in front of her anymore. A golden lion sat there, with those same too-red eyes. "You wouldn't recognize me."

Martel stared into those eyes. She knew that voice, that tone. But—he was dead, wasn't he? "Ratatosk?"

"You always were a smart one, Martel."

Her grip on the staff loosened. He was no threat, not to her. "I—they told me you were dead."

He laughed again—a dark, bitter sound—and the next time Martel blinked, a sparrow fluttered on the ground in front of her. "Might as well be."

The question was leaving her lips before she thought about it. "Why are—"

"Can't figure it out? You should be able to. Not that much of a stretch."

The pieces were in front of her, but her mind didn't want to connect them. And maybe that in itself was the answer. "...it broke you. When the Tree died."

The sparrow was gone and in its place was a facsimile of the Ratatosk she remembered. Nut-brown skin, autumn leaf hair. Almost an exact copy, save for his eyes. _(His eyes had been green, once. Green like summer leaves. Like the new Spirit's eyes are…)_ "What's a Summon Spirit without something to guard?"

"You still have something."

"Oh, yes, my monsters. I love them—I do, don't get me wrong—but when you break like I have, there's no turning back." His eyes met hers, unsettling and penetrating. "I suppose I'm talking to the wrong sibling though. Mithos," The name was spat out, like acid. "Would know all about it."

"You keep him out of this," Martel snapped at him, squaring her shoulders. _(People like Zelos and Sheena will have her thinking that Mithos is not worth defending. But he will forever be her brother and while she knows what he has done is beyond forgiveness, she won't let people accuse him unnecessarily)_ "He was responsible for a lot of things, but not the Tree's death. It was past saving by the time the War ended."

"And he kept it from germinating!" Ratatosk snarled, teeth bared and his features were elongated, almost wolfish, hair gone honey blonde, body stout and thick. "My child almost died because of his selfishness."

_(It takes her a moment. His child? The new Spirit. For lack of a better term, that's what she is. And Martel understands this hatred now, more fully than ever. She knows what it is to love a child like that, with your entire being…)_

"She's alive and well, Ratatosk," Martel told him, voice calmer now. "I've spoken with her. She is," Martel paused for words, finally finding the right ones. "A worthy successor."

"A replacement. A fraud." His broken eyes flickered just as his visage did, to some dark, feral monster. _(He could have loved the new Spirit, once. Could have had that capacity. Would have trained her, would have seen the cycles match up properly, his Tree's death with hers coming into maturity. But now? Now he can feel how_ wrong _the air is. It is almost empty of mana; her Tree will likely suffocate trying to fix this broken world)_

"She's no fraud. She works off of memories. Mine were what she had to work with."

"She is impure."

Martel arched an eyebrow. "Impure? Because she's a guardian of memories as well as the Tree? What does that make you? You were impure too."

And look where that had gotten him. Better that he should have died, should have been destroyed with his Tree. Ratatosk grinned, a savage thing that was all teeth. "I know better than you what I am, Martel Yggdrasill. I am what I have left: a monster. The Replacement won't succeed and the same will happen to her. Her Tree will die and she'll become nothing more than a memory."

"You may not believe in her, but I do. The rest of the world does. This world is changing for the better."

"You're all fools for believing."

"Better a fool than a cynic," Martel shot back.

Ratatosk laughed again, the sound still bitter, but not quite as dark. _(She has not changed, Martel. She is as fierce as always, unafraid of him as she had been that day that the four of them came to his Tree to ask for help)_ "Time will prove one of us right." His eyes glittered, rubies under a cloudy sky. "Tell Yuan and Kratos that, should I see them again, I will rip them apart until there is nothing left but atoms to float in the stratosphere." They were partly responsible for saving the world, so they get a pass, they get a warning. That was all he would give them.

"And you're sparing me?"

"You're innocent of their worst crimes." _(His broken pieces want to slice her apart too, but he already knows the best way to do that to a Yggdrasill. Watching her husband and her closest friend die, leaving her alone. She may be innocent, but he doesn't want her to live. Not because of anything she's done, but why should Mithos get his wish, even after his death?)_

"You think I would let you kill them?" The boys might accept their punishment at Ratatosk's hands, Martel knew—they huddled in their guilt like cloaks—but she wouldn't allow them to die without a fight. She had lost too much already.

He smirked and yes, that was a familiar expression. Being broken hadn't taken away any of Ratatosk's arrogance. "I did miss that spunk of yours, Martel." There was something in his voice that almost sounded like regret, or fondness. "Most people are incredibly boring, following their paths. You fight it. Every second of every day."

Martel smiled a little. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Take it as you will."

"I always do."

Ratatosk nodded a little and Martel watched him disappear into the wind, feeling his mana dissipate.

* * *

 _And being apart ain't easy on this love affair_  
_Two strangers learn to fall in love again_  
_I get the joy of rediscovering you_  
_Oh, girl, you stand by me_  
_I'm forever yours, faithfully_

* * *

Triet had a kind of harsh beauty that Martel was unaccustomed to. Heimdall had been an array of green in its flora, the ground always moist and swampy. Triet was the exact opposite; the desert was a haze of yellows and reds, the mountains brown and haggard.

Its people were friendly and talkative, though Martel sometimes head trouble understanding their throaty accents. The food was spicy and thick with sauces; Saffrine, the cook at the inn, was delighted to have someone to experiment recipes on. Martel spent many of her dinners with Saffrine while she was in Triet, trading stories and answering questions. Saffrine was curious about the world beyond the desert and Martel was fascinated with a culture so different from her own.

The market of Triet was an incredible thing full of brilliant colors and bold patterns. She snacked on a pork and cabbage bun while looking at the wares. She didn't keep her hood up here; people didn't seem to mind as much. She saw a house with a person-shaped hole in it. The owner, who was setting up pottery out front, proudly explained how the Chosen of Mana had fallen through there when she passed by on her journey of regeneration.

It was as the sun set that day, long after the market stalls had packed up, that Martel caught sight of a very familiar blue. Yuan was at a door, speaking to a woman with a child on her hip. He bid her goodbye before turning away, stopped in his tracks at the sight of her.

"Martel." His eyes went over her, tracking the changes and looking for any sign of harm, before flicking back up to her face.

She smiled a little at the sight of him; it was almost an automatic reaction. "Hello, Yuan." She stepped closer. It had been a long journey—and it wasn't even over—but she'd been travelling alone long enough to know that she missed him, missed almost everything about him. "Who is she?"

_(It's not jealousy that makes her ask. Honestly, it isn't. If there's one thing Martel knows about Yuan, it's how loyal he is, even to a fault. And even if the child is his, she can't blame him. It's been four thousand years of loneliness…)_

"The wife of one of my Renegades, and his son."

Yuan had explained the Renegades to her, their purpose, but they hadn't been entirely real yet. The Renegades had been so underground that even the people didn't know about them. If they saw them in uniform, they assumed they were Desians.

"And the Renegade?"

His mouth went grim. "Died in battle." Yuan had lost a lot of people over the millennia; he'd lost friends and family, comrades and rivals. Loss was something no one could get used to. "I make sure all of my Renegades, living or dead, are taken care of. Them, their families." Because he'd been the child and brother of a dead soldier; had watched his mother struggle to care for them and break under the pressure. He won't allow it to happen to someone else. "Gina insisted I stay for dinner."

"And of course, you can't turn down dinner," Martel teased gently. _(She doesn't know the man in front of her—the weary leader of the rebels—but she likes what she sees)_ "…Can you show me? Where the Renegades started?"

"It's not far, but…it's about a half-day's journey on foot."

It took Martel a moment to understand what the other mode of transportation would be. "…How long to fly?"

"Maybe twenty minutes." He'd never made the journey while carrying someone, but it wouldn't be much longer. "But if you'd rather walk—"

"I wouldn't," she interrupted.

Yuan blinked at her. "If you're sure." Which, of course, she was. Martel was a woman who was generally pretty good about making up her mind. He released his wings and he saw her take an involuntary step back at the release of mana. She'd always been sensitive to such things. He held out an arm. "There's no real comfortable way to carry you," he warned. _(She never liked being carried. She has always liked the ground beneath her feet. She's always been solid that way)_

Martel stepped close enough that she was just barely pressing against him, giving him a moment to get used to her again, giving _herself_ that moment. "Okay," she said. He bent a little, scooping one arm below her knees, the other catching her shoulders, her arms automatically encircling his neck. He didn't jump, didn't need that much of a boost. His wings flapped—rapidfire, like a hummingbird or a dragonfly, not powerful strokes, like a bird of prey—and he lifted off from his toes.

His wingstrokes evened out, becoming stronger, less frequent once they were in the air. Martel held on a little tighter because while she had flown before, on Rheairds, this was an entirely different sensation. _(But that is an instinctive thing. She knows that she is safer here and now than she has been for the past months of her journey. Yuan won't let her come to harm, not ever)_ It was an incredible thing, though, to be able to see the entire desert, to even see the ocean, out on the horizon.

Yuan touched down carefully, making sure he was steady before setting her down. Martel raked her hair out of her face—it had been getting a bit longer, lately. Past her shoulders, now—and looked at the building in front of them. It was tucked right into a cliffside, not towering, but still several stories high and _large_. It was like a fortress.

"You built this?" Martel asked.

"With some help."

"How many of them were there?" Martel knew that Yuan had founded them, had fought and worked and probably even lived with them, but she still saw him as a separate entity from the Renegades.

"Not enough." Yuan huffed a little and Martel wondered it was supposed to simulate a laugh. "We were always pulling double shifts, stretching too far and too thin. And it's not like we could put up recruitment posters."

Yuan showed her inside, through one of the side passages that wasn't laden with traps. Martel wanted to call him paranoid, but then she remembered the threat that they'd been up against and she kept silent. Inside was metallic, utilitarian, but the deeper they went, the more personal touches there were.

Boxes of objects in the hall, open for anyone who wanted whatever was in there. Trinkets, children's toys, old clothes. Yellowed photos pinned to walls. A board with schedules and shift changes. Scuffed walls with children's scribbles and drawings. A not-so-secret place beneath the stairs full of threadbare blankets and pillows and toys; a place for kids to be together and play.

"Did everyone go home?" Martel asked.

Yuan shook his head. "No. Well, they all did, but not all of them had a home to go to. When they got there, they found that their families or friends had left, that their city was half in ruins. Whatever they found, they couldn't stay. So they came back here."

"And they live here?"

"For as long as they need." _(He had asked so much of these people. Had asked them to put their families, their lives and their freedom on the line. He cannot thank them enough for all they've sacrificed)_ "Some have managed to get back on their feet, finding new homes and things."

"And the others?"

"Still here."

"When you left Derris-Kharlan, this is where you went." It hadn't been often that he'd done it—he'd hated to leave her—but he'd come back to check on them, to make sure everything was still okay.

"Yes."

Yuan was comfortable in this place; Martel could see it. Comfortable in a way that he wasn't up in Derris-Kharlan. There was no wariness of his surroundings, no discomfort. This place, this fortress, was his space. He'd built it from the ground up, had watched it grow.

Martel felt eyes watching her and she twisted her neck upwards, towards the stairs, to find the source. Two pairs of slanted eyes—half-elf eyes—were visible between the bannister posts. Two children, one a little older than the other. Martel hadn't thought about it, not fully, but children, especially the younger one, would have grown up in this fortress. Would have been born and raised here, never knowing the outside world.

_(She isn't sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, she, of all people, can appreciate having a safe place to raise children, to not have to worry about hateful words and worse being hurled at them. But they are war children, she can see that too. In a different sense that she and Kratos and Yuan are. They know the fight, they know the dangers; there are shadows and wariness in their eyes and she can't imagine that they are very used to strangers)_

Martel smiled at them, waving a little.

The older child shrunk back, bringing the younger child, who tried to wave back, with them.

"The world must be ending," Yuan said dryly. She turned to look at him; there was a faint, fond smile on his face. "Those two are bold as brass. I didn't think anything could turn them shy."

"Well, I _am_ a stranger."

Yuan snorted. "Never stopped them before."

_(For a moment, Martel aches. In her heart and low in her stomach, like monthly cramps. Like the child she'd carried for such a short time. These children, they are something to Yuan. Not quite his own, but he's responsible. Like an uncle, or a godfather. And she has always known that he would be a good father and right now, at this moment, she can see a future for them, with that fond smile on his face looking down at their son or daughter. It's a good future…)_

"Have you eaten?" Yuan asked and his hands were in his pockets.

"Not for a while."

"C'mon. There should be some leftovers. I think it was Nestor's turn for dinner and he never did know the meaning of the words 'portion control'."

The kitchen that he led her to wasn't particularly large, but it had shown a great deal of use. There were faded scorch marks on the wall near the stove and none of the stools at the counter matched. There were a few tables shoved in a corner with some crooked benches underneath them. There were a couple of childish drawings on the wall, half-finished. Herbs sat in a box on the windowsill; Martel could pick out mint, sage, basil, rosemary and thyme.

Yuan sniffed at a plate left in the refrigerator—a much refined version of the coldbox that Martel remembered—and seemed to deem it edible. "Looks like dinner was pasta." Martel's stomach growled in response and she saw the smile appear on Yuan's face. "I was going to ask if that was okay, but clearly, it is."

He spoke a spell and she could feel the way the mana was oh so carefully controlled to heat the food. _(She can't see mana like Mithos could. He'd seen it in all its colors and incarnations, had been able to see the flow of it. She can feel it more than see it; it's what makes her a good Healer)_

She dug into the food gratefully. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until now. Yuan just put a teapot, dropping the tea leaves in to boil. It was strange, this new place for them. They were familiar; they could anticipate each other, but there was an almost awkward distance between them.

They were quiet as the tea brewed and he slid her mug over to her before sitting at her side, pouring several scoops of sugar into his tea. _(Martel half wants to open her mouth, to call him a barbarian playfully because she's been raised to never put anything in tea. Ruined the taste, the elves said)_

"…how have you been?" Martel asked.

Yuan turned towards her and in this lighting, she caught a faint, white scar along the side of his neck, curling forward around to the other side of his Adam's apple. That was new; he hadn't had that scar Before. "About the same as ever."

Before he could continue, Martel found herself reaching out towards Yuan's neck. His forehead creased a little in confusion, but he inclined his head, baring his throat to her all the same. She ran her thumb along the scar; it was hardly visible, even at this proximity.

"…Who was good enough to get this close?" Martel murmured. Yuan was lethal with his spear and magic, dangerous even without them.

She didn't expect him to avert his eyes. "…You don't want the answer to that."

That was an answer in and of itself, really. "Mithos."

Yuan nodded.

"Why would he—" Yuan had been Mithos' friend, his brother—not that Mithos had been particularly happy about the latter, but it wouldn't have been enough to try and kill him.

 _(Yuan doesn't want to have this conversation; Martel deserves to have more good memories than bad, especially of Mithos. But he had promised her answers)_ "…There could be long periods of time when Mithos was within spitting distance of sanity. I don't think he ever came back all the way—not more than a few times in four thousand years and never for very long—but he had his episodes. Paranoia, hallucinations—all of it. I happened to get too close a few hundred years ago. I don't know if he knew it was me or not, but…he had a dagger to my throat."

"And you didn't stop him?" Yuan had been more than capable of subduing Mithos.

"No. He—he was stronger, after he broke, Martel. No holding back." And both he and Kratos had held a vague hope, for all those millennia, that they were doing the right thing, that Mithos was overall sane, that they all were. They were always great at lying to themselves.

Martel closed her eyes; she had seen it, of course. Whenever Mithos would show her new spells or she watched the boys sparring. Mithos was a genius, she knew that. She knew how it could be applied, knew that Mithos had enormous potential, good or bad, but she had believed his morals to be quite unshakeable. _(She never had calculated her murder into the equation…)_

"Why didn't he kill you?"

"He snapped out of it. I don't know if he recognized me at first, but when he did, he dropped the dagger, healed me up."

"But you kept the scar."

"As a reminder." Of how far they'd all fallen, of how dangerous Mithos could be.

Martel brought up her other hand so she could cup Yuan's jaw, his cheeks, to look into that familiar-strange face. Yuan stayed still, carefully controlling his breathing. There were a few faint, new lines there, sorrowful lines. His nose was a little more crooked than she remembered, but what had changed the most were his eyes. She never used to be able to see broken places there. They were still sea green, right now, defensive, but there was more blue in them. Was it her presence, making him relax? She ran a hand through his bangs, tucking them behind a triangular ear. Yes, this was still the man she had loved, the man she still loved. ( _They are repenting, Aska had said. Had been repenting. Even after all they'd done, did they deserve more sorrow in their lives? Could she make that sorrow happen to them?)_

"I don't know who we are anymore," Martel said softly. "I don't know what the future holds or what I want to do or make happen."

Yuan held her eyes, unflinching. One of his hands was on her knee, rubbing comforting circles. He didn't even seem to be aware he was doing it. "But?"

"But I know I miss you." Her lips curled into a smile. "Wherever I travel, I think of a hundred and one things to tell you. Things to ask, thoughts to share." She chuckled a little, helplessly and let her hands drop to his shoulders. "I was waiting for the boat, outside of Meltokio, and I thought, Yuan would hate this. He hates boats. It made me remember something my father told me, how he knew my mother was the one. He said, he stared out at the ocean one night from his room at the university and he only thought of her. It's the person you think of, he said, when you stare out at something as powerful and open to possibility as the ocean. That person is your love."

"Do you agree with him?" Yuan asked quietly.

"Yes. I know that for sure. I don't think I can stop loving you, Yuan. I don't know how. Do you remember what you told me, the first time you kissed me?"

He could never forget. "That I didn't want to die not knowing. That I wanted to take a chance on us, however it would turn out."

"We're different people now. Maybe it'll turn out that we can't be married, that we can't be in a relationship anymore—I don't know. But I _do_ know that I don't want to live the rest of my life without knowing. You— _us_ —we're worth taking a chance on."

He grinned and it was the sun rising after a long night. "I was hoping that was your answer."

* * *

Martel woke the next morning to a bed of her own at the Renegade base—mostly because " _I've been an angel, Martel, but never a saint,"_ and they were still testing out boundaries—warm and quite unwilling to move anytime soon. The sun rose early, in the desert, and the sun was already slanting across the floor.

The door slid open and Martel shuffled around a little to see who it was. Yuan leaned his shoulder on the doorframe, a fond look in his eyes. "Good morning."

"Morning. You're up early." According to her clock, it was perhaps eight in the morning and he was dressed for the day in a plain white shirt and some slacks.

"I don't sleep much, these days."

"You slept in my room." Almost every night of her recovery, Yuan was there, in his chair.

"Resting my eyes and sleeping are two different things. And I can kind of…doze, a bit, most nights, but it's not real sleep." Yuan pushed off the doorframe to sit on the edge of the bed. "I was told to fetch you for breakfast."

Martel turned onto her side, propping up her head with her hand. "You were _told_?"

"We tend not to argue with Marja and it's her turn for breakfast. But if you feel like staying in bed, I can bring the food to you."

Martel thought about it; it wasn't an issue of tiredness—she had the energy. It was more an issue of willpower. She sunk a little further into her pillow. "Honestly?"

"Guess that's my answer." Yuan leaned forward, brushing a kiss on her lips and lingering longer than he used to before pulling away. _(He's back in a dream, waiting to wake up to a world without her in it, where she'd died permanently…)_ "Try not to fall back asleep."

"No promises."

* * *

Martel came down around noon, after sharing her breakfast with Yuan. He had bid her goodbye with a kiss and a promise to be back before dinner. It was a new feeling for her; she was never the type to sleep in, to be lazy. Or rather, the world had never allowed her to see if she was that type. She stretched, still in yesterday's dress and had found a brush to untangle her hair. It was getting long again, past her shoulders. Her hair had always grown quickly.

There was a young woman in the kitchen—Spirits, but she couldn't be more than twenty and when did twenty become young?—a little girl crawling along the floor. The woman's dark brown hair was tugged back in a low tail and there was a scar running along her cheekbone, white, but still with the shine of new scar tissue.

"Who are you?" the young woman asked and Martel caught the way that her hand twitched towards the set of kitchen knives on the counter.

Martel put her hands up. "My name is Martel." _(She doesn't really use her last name anymore. It's still hers—she never took Yuan's name—but it doesn't feel like it belongs to her, to the woman she is now)_

She was surprised when the young woman calmed instantly, returning to where she had been mashing something in a bowl. "Oh, _you're_ her. I'm Tari and that," She tilted her head towards the little girl. "Is my daughter, Bahlila. Most just call her Lila."

Lila was just looking up at her, watching her with those wide, curious eyes that children had Martel smiled and waved at her. "Hi, Lila." The girl ducked her head and crawled towards her mother. Martel looked back to Meri. "And—sorry, how—"

"Did I know I could trust you?" Tari finished. "Yuan told us about you."

Martel's eyebrows rose. She might still have been figuring the new Yuan out, but she knew he was pretty secretive. "How much did he tell you?"

"No details," Tari assured her. "Honestly, I don't think he would've told us until yesterday, but we were worried about him. It was almost two years ago, but he's always been good about keeping in contact with all of us, no matter what city we're in. He'd been checking in with everyone, making sure that we were all doing okay, that we were settled. But he kind of dropped off the radar then. Like, less than a month after the reunification. No one saw or heard from him. So we tracked him down."

Martel did the math. At this point, she'd been awake for almost two years. One, without her memory and it had been several month into her travels. He'd been with her, up in Derris-Kharlan. "How did you track him?"

Tari grinned a little and Martel saw the intelligence gleaming in the bright gray eyes. "He taught everyone too well. We were looking through all communications—which is pretty easy, considering how behind Sylvarant is in terms of technology—and we found activity up in Derris-Kharlan, which, y'know, shouldn't have been happening. So we dug a little deeper—which was _hard_ because Yuan designed the defenses up there himself—and we managed to get a message to him."

"And he was okay."

"Yup. He let us know that he was fine, just taking care of a few things. He said that his visits had to get more sporadic for a while, but that if we needed help to contact him and that he would explain next time he saw us. Which he did." Tari turned, leaning back on the counter to really look at Martel. "We didn't expect you to come back."

"He'd told you about me before?"

"I wasn't here when the Renegades started. I came late—like a few months before it was all over, late. My brother was a Renegade. Died in the line of duty." Her face fell, her eyes going darker. "Yuan was the one that came to my door and told me. It didn't surprise me, honestly. Botta was always too damn loyal for his own good and Yuan has a way of inspiring people to be loyal, to be brave."

Tari went silent for a moment and Martel didn't know what to expect, what to say. _(Some of the things that she's hearing about Yuan are familiar. Like inspiring bravery. The loyalty is new, but the taking care of people isn't. But the Renegades care about him, as a person, not a leader and that is something a bit unexpected)_

The young mother shook her head and cleared her throat. "Anyway—when I told Yuan that I wanted to become a Renegade in Botta's honor, after he tried talking me out of it—"

"That clearly worked out well," Martel added dryly, which made Tari laugh.

"He's not as good at arguing as he thinks he is. But after he agreed to let me join, he explained it to me. Cruxis—all of it." Tari met Martel's eyes. "Including you."

"If that's the case, then why do you still sound suspicious?"

"I don't know you. I know _of_ you. I just don't want Yuan getting hurt; four thousand years is a long time." Tari had seen him, twisting that ring of his. She'd been one of the ones to help set up the communications for the infiltration of the Iselia Ranch and she'd heard the scream from the Tree, had seen how still and quiet Yuan had been for the rest of that day. "He's done a lot for us."

"And you don't know if I can deal with it."

"It's a valid question. He's responsible for the death of thousands. Millions, probably. Maybe more. People change."

Martel smiled a little, folding her arms across her stomach. "Not that it's any of your business, our private lives, but I don't intend to hurt him. I still love him." She didn't know how _not_ to love him.

"I hope it turns out well for you two. Honestly, I do. I may not know much about you, but I think he deserves some happiness."

"Even if he's responsible for all this? Even if it weren't for him, your brother might still be alive because he would never have needed to rebel?"

Tari's gray eyes flashed, though with anger at bringing up her brother or with sadness, Martel couldn't say. "There are always going to be corrupt governments and injustices. Botta wouldn't have ever been satisfied with a fisherman's life. He would've found something to fight for, that I'm sure of."

_(Tari will not be the only one. Martel helps them all day, watches the children and assists with cleaning. She hears similar stories from all of the Renegades. None of them knew the Yuan she had. They all know him as the man who helped rip the world apart, as the man who was responsible for putting their families and friends in the ranches and yet, Martel gets hugs and grins and explanations of how good it will be for Yuan that she's here because he needs to smile more. Yuan has made and found himself a strange, large family and Martel can't stop herself from smiling)_

* * *

Tari had just put Lila down for her nap and went to grab some crates from the Triet delivery. The Trietans loved the Renegades; they were good business and good protection. Martel was putting up the fruits in the baskets hanging in the kitchen when Yuan came into the room.

"Feel like helping me make dinner?" Yuan asked Martel. "It's my turn."

Martel looked over her shoulder at him. "And everyone thought that was a good idea? You'll burn the whole place down."

"He almost did," Jared—recently back from trying to find his family again in Ozette—pointed out. "More than a couple times."

Yuan shot him a look. " _Thank you_ , Jared."

Jared just grinned at him.

"And anyway, that was a long time ago. I'm actually pretty good at it by now." _(It shouldn't be a surprise. Kratos had made most of their meals up in Derris-Kharlan, she'd known that, but looking back, she'd never seen Yuan cooking up there; that didn't mean he couldn't have done it. Had she simply assumed?)_

"What were you of making?"

"Chicken stew."

Martel smiled. "I'm in."

Tari showed Martel the garden that the Renegades kept—the desert was hard to grow anything in, but they'd managed to figure out a system—of potatoes, a few kinds of berries, carrots, parsnips, rye and asparagus. They traded often with Iselia and Triet to get anything else they needed. Martel hummed in satisfaction at the carrots and potatoes that she picked. Tari helped in silence, eyes continually flicking between her work and Martel.

She didn't know much about Yuan, personally. She'd only known him for a few months before the worlds were reunited and things had changed after that. But she knew enough about him to know that he'd ripped the world apart for this woman. He'd murdered millions and had tried to save just as many, all because of her and Tari didn't quite understand what it was that he saw in her. She seemed quite ordinary, but there had to be something that Yuan knew or saw that was worth all of this.

When they re-entered the kitchen, Yuan was nearly done plucking the chicken. His hair was pulled up higher than usual and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. They set their vegetables on the kitchen and Martel tapped Tari's shoulder.

"Do you have a hair clip?" she asked.

Tari checked her pockets; she'd gotten into the habit of keeping some on her person because Lila was constantly losing hers. She pulled one out and gave it to Martel, who just smiled and thanked her.

Tari watched her curiously because instead of putting it in her own hair, like Tari thought she was going to do, Martel simply took Yuan's loose bangs and clipped them up in one smooth, familiar motion. _(Tari knows that they'd been married, but it has never clicked until just this moment because that little action has that casual intimacy that Tari remembers her parents having and they'd been married for almost thirty years before Da died)_

Yuan didn't even flinch from the movement—one thing that the children were the first to learn was that it was almost impossible to sneak up on him with his enhanced senses—but he did turn to stare at Martel a little, like waking up from a dream.

"You're going to get hair in everyone's food and we'll know instantly if it's yours." She tugged at his ponytail as if to make a point.

Yuan raised his eyebrows. "You're one to talk."

Martel raked her hair up in a tail pointedly, which made him smirk a little. "Good enough?"

"Always."

The answer surprised Tari; it was just barely flirting, lightly teasing, but still absolutely sincere. They didn't acknowledge it between them, though. Yuan went back to his chicken and Martel began washing the vegetables. Tari took one of the deliveries of corn from the crates and started shucking them.

As she did, she watched Yuan and Martel; it was a little fascinating. They moved around each other familiarly, never getting in each other's way. After the chicken had been cooked—Martel eyed it carefully, looking for any signs of burning—and the vegetables set to boil with the broth, Martel was already finding plates and glasses to set the table when she paused.

"How many are we?" Martel asked.

Tari did the math. "For this round, it's ten of us."

Martel looked at her, confused. "'This round?'"

"There's not enough space in here for us all to eat at once. So we eat in rounds."

The system made sense, Martel would admit. She began setting the table, with Tari right behind her. Once Yuan announced that the stew was done, Tari went to an intercom system that they'd installed after Botta had gotten fed up with them hollering that dinner was done every night. _(He had worked odd hours, her brother. Sometimes, he would have slept through dinner and he hadn't appreciated being woken with the shouting. With the intercom, he could at least just turn the volume down)_

"First round of dinner is ready, ladies and gents."

It didn't take long before nine more people were in the kitchen, grabbing their bowls from the table and lining up to serve themselves stew. Tari ended up on the outside edge of one of the benches, calling for Shered to pass the salt. As she sprinkled the salt in, Tari caught sight of Yuan and Martel, each taking their bowls and leaning on the counter while they ate.

"It's actually not terrible," Martel teased quietly.

Yuan wrinkled his nose. "Needs a little more wine to really make it kick."

"I never said there wasn't room for improvement."

Tari watched as Yuan gently nudged her with his elbow, not enough to displace stew from her bowl, but enough to jostle her. Martel swayed back into place, both of them touching at their hips, their shoulders. Tari had never seen Yuan this casual, had never seen him so absolutely comfortable with another person before.

It was a good change.

* * *

Martel found him in his study, which she'd gotten a bit turned around trying to find in the first place. The Renegade Base was a veritable maze. Martel had been in the study before, but she still had issues navigating in this place.

Her mouth was open to make a comment as she stepped through the door, but she closed it when she saw Yuan sleeping on the desk, head on folded arms. Martel was careful to walk as silently as she could across the room, trying not to wake him. Yuan didn't sleep much in the first place, she knew. Not real sleep, not like this.

As she went around to the other side of the desk, she was surprised to see glasses sitting askew on her husband's nose. Since when had he worn glasses?

Seeing him like that, Martel was filled with a surge of fondness because this man was the leader of the Renegades, but he was still the boy she'd grown up with, the man who'd sprawled over most of their bed and she'd had to shove back to his side. _(This man is one she doesn't know all of, not anymore, but she knows the important parts and she thinks, yeah, she can live a life with him. And maybe he doesn't deserve forgiveness or justice or whatever it is he's been searching for. But the man she remembers—the man who could be so sweet, who could stand firm as an anchor in a field of bodies, the man who had stammered through the marriage proposal—_ he _deserves it. And he's still in there)_

Martel reached forward, gently wriggling the glasses out from where they were trapped against his arm. He sniffed a little, eyes opening blearily. She ran a hand over his bangs, combing them back, out of his face. "Hey," she said softly.

He blinked a few times, and his eyes are a familiar shade of bright blue. "Martel. Timezit?"

"Almost ten at night." Not that late, honestly, but to a man who didn't sleep, the time stopped mattering; it was mostly just when his body gave in. Yuan didn't have a regular sleep schedule, despite that he tried to keep one. "C'mon. Let's go to bed."

It took Yuan a moment to process the words, for them to click in his drowsy mind and when they clicked, he snapped to full alertness. They hadn't slept together yet, sexually or literally. They'd been careful, so far, trying not to break what they had.

Yuan read her face, her eyes, making sure they were on the same page because that wasn't something he could take for granted anymore. Martel stood there, her hand still in his hair, and allowed the inspection.

He smiled and stood, joints cracking from being in an odd position for so long. He reached out his hand, cupping her jaw and tugging her in for a kiss. He felt her smile against his lips and he pulled back, just a little.

"That sounds like a good idea," he said.

Her smile widened. "I tend to have those."

* * *

They spent hours relearning each other's bodies. The new scars, the sensitive places.

There were dozens of new scars on Yuan, ones that Martel didn't know. She didn't ask for the stories behind them; sometimes, he would tell her and other times, he just stayed silent. He didn't have any brand new scars; all were older, faded and white. Even the wound that Martel had given him was little more than a rough patch of skin here and there. Yuan shivered underneath Martel's hands when she ran them over his shoulder blades. There was a ball of mana there, she could sense it, and Yuan looked over his shoulder and just said, "Wings."

"Can I see them?" Martel asked quietly.

It took less than a thought to release the mana, wings fanning out. Martel traced them gently, running her fingers along the feathers' edges. They shimmered different shades of purple, darker near the base and almost translucent at the tips. She had seen them before, when they'd been explaining everything to her, but she was different now. She wasn't panicked, wasn't terrified out of her mind. The wings had a different connotation now; they were a part of him, as much as his magic and his sarcasm and his smiles.

She leaned down to kiss right between them and she felt his back rise and fall with a shuddering sigh. _(They're supposed to be something monstrous, something terrible. But at the same time, they aren't. Their Cruxis Crystals aren't something they did. It's a mark of their own suffering that evolved their Exspheres)_

"They suit you," Martel murmured against his skin.

Yuan shifted underneath her until he was mostly on his side, wings vanishing. "Do they?"

"Well, imagine if they turned out like Colette's. Bright pink is not your color."

She felt him shake beneath her with laughter at the mental image. There was still a fond half-grin on his face when he was done laughing. "No, it's definitely not." One of his hands came up to comb through her hair. "It's getting long. Are you going to cut it again?"

"You didn't seem very partial to the idea." Yuan finished turning over entirely so that he was on his back, Martel's head resting on his solar plexus. "As I recall, you tried to talk me out of it."

"I _was_ rather fond of your hair. But I have to admit, the short length works on you. Not that my opinion has ever had much weight in your decisions."

Yuan felt her smile against his skin. "Not on my body, it doesn't. Besides," Her smile morphed into a grin. "You have hair enough for both of us, I think." Martel flicked a lock of his hair at him, moving up his body so that she could kiss his jaw.

"Trust me on this one, short hair doesn't suit me." Yuan hadn't had short hair since he was a kid in Asgard, since before the humans invaded the village, since they either killed or enslaved the entire population.

"I'll take your word for it." Martel felt his hands tracing idle patterns along her shoulder, down her back, around to her ribs, to her waist and hips. He paused at the scar on her lower back, to the right of her spine. A large scar, old and white, but one that he hated.

Yuan flipped them over in a sharp, quick movement, his eyes travelling down to the scar on her abdomen, the match to the one on her back. His fingers traced it, emotions shuttering away. He'd seen it before, dozens of times during Martel's recovery, but he hadn't allowed himself to really _look_ at it. Martel reached down and while she didn't pull his hand away, she made it stop.

"Look at me," she said and waited for his eyes to come up. "There was nothing you could have done."

"Yes, there was. I could have—I could've gone with you, that day. I could've gotten to you sooner."

Aska's sunset eyes and warm voice filled Martel's mind. "Could haves and ifs are useless when referring to the past. We can't change what happened. It wasn't your fault."

"You think I don't know that?" His eyes were hard, jaw set.

"I think sometimes you forget." Martel sat up, making him lean back a little.

Yuan shook his head. "No, that's one thing I can't forget, Martel. That day, with those humans? I remember everything. I see it in my nightmares."

Martel frowned a little. 'Those humans'. He sounded like everyone they'd been fighting against.

Reading the look on her face, Yuan said, "Don't ask me to forgive them. I won't." He could. He could rationalize it out from their point of view, convince himself it had been long enough and that it was time to let it go. But he didn't. _(He has never known such fury as that day. They had slaughtered those humans, left them splattered over the road and grass. There had been no control to their magic and their blades, no restraint…)_

"You don't forgive a lot of people," Martel said, glancing down at his left arm, where the numbers would forever be inked into his skin.

"They don't deserve forgiveness." Yuan had a lot of hate in him, he knew. Hate for slavers—not just his, either—hate for humans, for what he, Kratos and Mithos had done. He wasn't as good at pinpointing that hate either, not like Kratos, who could narrow it onto a single person. While he hated Martel's murderers, some of that hatred spread to humans in general.

"Whether they earned it or not is one thing, but everyone deserves the chance for it."

"I don't agree."

Her face settles into a terrible kind of calm _(He shouldn't react to it—Martel isn't a person to lash out in her anger—but that expression is one that Yggdrasill had. One that makes alarm bells go off in Yuan's mind)_ "Is it because you can't forgive yourself? Do you think you don't deserve it either?"

"I know that I don't." Yuan refused to answer the first question.

"No." Her grip on his hands tightened. "I can't believe that. I won't. I _know_ you, Yuan. Even after all this, I _know_ what you are and it isn't a monster. You're a good man, in the end. The things you've done are monstrous, yes, but you're trying to make up for what you've done. I think that's good enough. We can't change the past, but we _can_ change the future."

He held still, defensiveness wavering in front of her strength. Martel had always been stronger because she had faith. Faith in what, he didn't know. In people? Her family or the Spirits? In him? He had no idea. All Yuan had was fear. Fear and doubt.

No, that wasn't quite right. He did have fear and doubt, but he had some faith too. In her. He trusted her, he always had. For her, he could try.

Yuan kissed her hard enough to bruise, clutching tight. She nipped his lip in retaliation before pulling back, leaning her forehead on his. "Okay," he murmured.

* * *

Martel woke the next morning to kisses up her spine, along her shoulders. She hunched away from the kisses along the back of her neck that tickled her. Yuan nudged his nose along the line of her jaw, kissing her neck and beneath her ears.

"Morning," he murmured.

"You're in a good mood," she said, twisting her neck at an awkward angle to brush her lips against his.

"A wonderful mood, in fact." He pressed his hips more closely to hers as proof. "And I have it on good authority it's because of you."

Martel groaned as she turned over, tossing one leg over his hip to tug him closer. "That was a terrible line. You're losing your touch."

In a sudden move, Yuan was on top of her, leaning down with a wicked grin on his face. "You dare to impugn my honor, Lady?"

She inclined her head, a challenging glint in her eyes. "And what exactly do you plan to do about it?"

_(They don't come downstairs until dinner and Tari just grins widely at them. "I see you two had a very productive day," she says and Martel flushes a little while Yuan throws an apple from the fruit bowl at her)_

* * *

_I've heard it said that people come into our lives for a reason_  
_Bringing something we must learn_  
_And we are led to those who help us most to grow, if we let them_  
_And we help them in return_

* * *

Martel smelled the swamp before she saw it; the Ymir might be called a forest, but in truth, it was more of a marsh. The murky water was deep enough to go halfway up the trees and to hide enormous fish—larger than a horse—beneath the surface. She didn't think she could ever forget the smell of a swamp; she had learned it quickly, with Mithos curling into her skirts and the rage of the elves behind them as they hid. _(Four thousand years have passed; this forest is still the one she knew. Is Heimdall the same way? And if it is, why should she be afraid? She is not the same child she had been when she was chased out…)_

She was startled to see a familiar person sitting on the roots of the trees, right near the entrance. "Kratos?"

The man raised his head and there was a smile in his eyes, even if it wasn't on his lips. "Hello, Martel."

She hadn't seen him since she'd made the decision to go travelling. "How did—"

Kratos stood, dusting off the seat of his pants. "Yuan told me that you were headed this way, that you wanted to see Origin. I thought you might want some company when you came back."

Martel felt his breath get knocked out when she hugged him. _(Murderer he might be, but right now, he is the friend she remembers, thoughtful and gentle)_ "Thank you."

He wrapped his arms around her, returning the embrace tightly. "It's good to see you." He frowned a little as he studied her. "You've been wearing your hood outside?"

" _Yes_." Martel refrained from mentioning that she had gotten sunburnt a bit on days when she wanted to enjoy the sun; Kratos was protective enough already.

The walk through the marsh was vaguely unpleasant only because of the incredible humidity. It made everything sticky and muggy and Martel tucked her hair up in a short tail to keep it off the back of her neck. At least it was shady, beneath the trees.

"How did you find the world?" Kratos asked.

"It was…strange, in many ways. Some things seem almost familiar about certain places and other things are absolutely alien. And honestly, people haven't changed very much."

She felt the way Kratos' attention sharpened. "How so? Did you run into trouble?"

"Not _real_ trouble. A few monsters on the road." Which she had easily dispatched. She wasn't a warrior, like her boys, but she had been a soldier, fighting worse things than some wolves and a bear. "There were a few disagreements."

"About?" Kratos knew that when Martel said 'disagreements', she usually meant worse things.

"You know, I didn't get a whole lot of trouble for being a half-elf. In Meltokio, yes, but most other places, they didn't even seem to care. They had other troubles, y'know? But…when I told them where I was from…that's where people cared." Martel looked up at Kratos. "It's almost backwards from when we were growing up."

"People find reasons to hate. Things will get better, I think—what's that look for?"

Martel hooked her arm with his, a familiar position. "Just thinking that there's the Kratos I know."

* * *

Kratos felt Martel shrink back a little as they entered Heimdall's boundaries. He'd warned her about the destruction caused by the fallen Tower, but he knew that it wasn't seeing her hometown again that made her react. It was the elves, the way they instantly focused on them.

The Elder was the one who came to them. "Half-breeds are not allowed inside our borders, Kratos. You know this."

"Half- _elves_ helped save your people and the rest of the world," Kratos told him. "I suggest putting aside your old ways of thinking; it'll make things easier on you. This world won't be built on the old ways." He felt Martel's arm squeeze his, though in support or in pride, he couldn't be sure.

"You are not above our laws," the Elder told him.

"Your laws are older than _I_ am, Elder. It's time for change."

Another elf—a very old one, if the visible age on his face was any indication—came forward. "Let them pass."

Kratos inclined his head in respect. "Storyteller. It's good to see that you're well."

"Likewise." The Storyteller turned to the Elder. "He has never been affected by our laws. You're lucky he has the respect to not go charging through and you won't stop him. Let the both of them pass. We owe them a great deal of gratitude."

The Elder hesitated for a long moment longer, as though he wished to argue more, but then he thought better of it. "Go on."

Kratos nodded his head in thanks while Martel verbalized hers. She saw the way the Storyteller gave her an odd look, but he didn't say anything.

Martel stared at old ghosts as they walked. _(The places are changed, but she can see where they had been. The river that she and Mithos had been taught to swim in. The fruit trees where they had gathered underneath with baskets, the fields where she had danced and played with friends…)_

"Are you alright?" Kratos asked quietly.

"Fine. Just—" She huffed a little self-deprecatingly. "I thought I wouldn't be afraid of them anymore. I'm an adult. They're not even the same people that I remember. Those people are long gone, but it was still hard to find my voice."

"That tends to happen." He looked sideways at her. "It gets easier."

_(She remembers his father, the cruel man he had been, remembers seeing Kratos trembling before him, sword in hand and voice wavering. She remembers having trouble reconciling the confident man to the terrified boy that his father turned him into. Yes, of all people, Kratos understood this…)_

"You were right." Martel leaned up to kiss his cheek. It was an action the belonged to the old them, but it still felt right. She felt him tense before relaxing and she wondered when he had gotten this aversion to touch. She smiled. "I did need a friend for this."

* * *

Something about Origin's forest made Martel instantly relax. She wasn't sure if it was the feel of his mana that permeated everything from the blades of grass to the branches of the thick trees over their heads or if it was simply that Origin had always equated to 'safe' in Martel's mind. The forest was charred on the edges; some fires that had broken out when the Tower fell, but the area was healing, new plants poking through the soil. It was a comforting sight.

Martel didn't let herself look away from the light that emanated from the Altar. His eyes went to Kratos first, but then she saw his eyes go to her and the way his eyes widened. "It's true."

"Origin."

He touched down in front of them. Kratos untwisted their arms and took a step back. "Aska had told me, as had Kratos, but—"

"It's hard to believe, I know." Martel smiled up at him. "I know I said I would visit you, but I'm sorry it took me so long."

"You never did do anything by halves."

They talked long into the day and Martel couldn't say when Kratos had left her in the glade for privacy. Or rather, the illusion of privacy. If he wanted to, Kratos could have heard the conversation from anywhere in Heimdall.

The sun was setting when Martel stood from where she'd curled beside the altar as they talked, her joints cracking satisfyingly. She bid Origin goodnight before she left down the path. The forest had been a place forbidden to children, when she'd been growing up. It was too easy to get lost. Martel marveled at the thick trees, the healthiness of all the plants; they'd been steeped in mana thanks to Origin, so they were in better shape than the rest of the world.

"Lady."

Martel looked up at the title—there had been a time when she'd been embarrassed by it, when she hadn't responded, but it had become something she'd grown to accept. She recognized the elf kneeling by the path, a small basket of flowers in hand. "Storyteller. Good evening."

"To you as well." The Storyteller got to his feet with a little difficulty. He caught her eyes on his basket. "Flowers for my wife's grave. I bring her some once a week."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"No need. It was a long time ago."

"I don't think that matters," Martel found herself saying. "Some things don't stop hurting."

The Storyteller smiled. "You're a very forward young woman."

 _(It's been a long time since anyone called her young. It makes her want to smile)_ Martel ducked her head a little, not in shame, but perhaps in sheepishness. "I've been told."

"Don't think I mean it in a bad way. Forwardness gets things done. I'm rather surprised that you didn't speak up this morning, when the Elder treated you the way he did."

"I didn't really have anything to add," Martel said carefully.

He hummed thoughtfully. "Who are you, to Kratos? I've never known him to be very social."

_(Kratos isn't, in the usual sense of the word, social. He's quiet and not particularly good with people. Really, it's more accurate to say that he isn't very comfortable in crowds, that he's shy, even, but he's always preferred to be near people, to be listening and just on the outskirts of involved)_

"He's a good friend of mine."

The Storyteller's eyes sharpened. "…You're her, aren't you? Martel Yggdrasill."

Her name didn't sound like hers, even coming from someone else. Martel's hand tightened on her staff. "That's impossible."

"Oh? Interesting, how you didn't seem insulted or confused about who that is. And your accent is strange, like Kratos and Yuan's. Old. Definitely not an accent from any modern-day territory."

She smiled tightly. "Maybe you just haven't travelled far enough."

"Maybe," he agreed. "But then how do you explain Kratos being that protective of you?"

"What does it matter to you if I am Martel?" she said, dropping the charade.

The Storyteller studied her with eyes that seemed very young. She'd gotten used to Kratos and Yuan, with their ancient, sad eyes; to her own eyes in the mirror, too old for a young face, even by elven standards. _(He's looking for faults. He's looking for something broken, like there is in Kratos—he can recognize a lost love when he sees one. He's looking for something that doesn't fit, some hint of instability. All the Storyteller sees is defiance and fire and passion. All he sees is a young woman who's not really young at all, a woman who has fought wars and defied kingdoms for her beliefs, a woman who made the world fall apart for love of her)_

"It doesn't," the Storyteller said finally. "I'm honored to meet you."

And Martel could only stare, dumbstruck, as he bowed to her. It took her a minute to return the bow. "Likewise," she said.

* * *

Many of the buildings had been rebuilt in Heimdall; the elves were nothing if not efficient. They shared a room at the inn. Martel watched carefully because Kratos had begun moving a little stiffly as the day wore on.

"Are you hurt?" Martel asked as she tugged her boots and socks off, setting them beside the bed.

Kratos shook his head. "It's nothing."

"You're moving like you are. I don't think it's nothing."

He sighed. She had always been too observant. "It's just an old wound. There's a thunderstorm on its way."

"How bad was the wound that you or Yuan couldn't heal it?" Martel asked. Even Mithos had been good enough at Healing to make sure that something would heal properly and not create chronic pain.

Kratos didn't reply.

"Let me see."

It was hard to say if it was a question or an order. Regardless, Kratos slipped out of his shirt, grunting slightly at certain angles, before turning to display his back. Martel rose from the bed, summoning a ball of witchlight to see better.

The wound had been a bad one, hitting him squarely in the back. There was an epicenter, something that must have been a gruesome burn and from that epicenter spanned out feathery tendrils, extending almost past his shoulders at some points. It was well-healed, by now, a pale reddish brown of a fading scar, but Martel knew what a lightning wound looked like.

And she could put the pieces together. Yuan would have healed this, he would have been the ideal one to do it. Who better to heal a lightning wound than a master of the element? And Kratos' pride wouldn't have gotten in the way; not for something as serious as this and not with Yuan. That much, Martel knew, regardless of how changed they both were. Unless he'd been the one to inflict it.

"Did Yuan do this?" Martel asked quietly.

"It's complicated, Martel."

Which was a 'yes'. "Then explain it to me." Because the man Martel knew, the Kratos-and-Yuan that she knew, wouldn't have hurt each other. Not ever.

"He—it wasn't intended for me."

"Who was it intended for?" Because for this to have hit Kratos so directly, it wasn't a ricochet, it wasn't collateral damage. He'd had to have put himself in the line of fire and Martel was having trouble thinking of anyone that Yuan would go for that Kratos would be willing to protect like that.

"…Lloyd."

" _What_?"

"I told you it was complicated."

"Sit down while I try and make this better." Kratos obeyed, sitting on the bed. Martel grabbed some Healing supplies that she'd picked up in various markets across the world—you could never be too careful—from her bag before sitting cross-legged behind him, her knees touching his hips.

"…You've never seen it," Kratos began slowly. "Yuan when he's desperate. I've only ever seen it twice." And he was the one who knew Yuan best and longest. "The first time was right after you died. We were all desperate then."

Martel pressed her knees a little harder against him, a reassurance that she was here, she was alive. Her hands continued to study the rough ridges and valleys of the epicenter scar, trying to see just how deep the damage had gone. "And the second?"

"The Renegades were losing the war," Kratos explained. "His second-in-command had just died—"

"Botta, right?"

Kratos hummed an affirmative. "He was a good man. And a close friend to Yuan."

"I've met his sister. If he was anything like her, I agree with you."

"A lot of good people died that day with Botta. Yuan needed to finish it quickly. He knew that the only way to do it would be to break the pact with Origin so that he could control the Eternal Sword. A pact based on my life."

_(They can only speculate, but their guess—which is correct—is that that decision is one of the hardest ones that Yuan has ever had to make. To save the world at the cost of his oldest friend…)_

"Zelos was an informer for the Renegades." And everyone else. "Yuan had him poison the food so as to put everyone to sleep. Yuan had given me a message to meet him there." Kratos grunted in pain as Martel pressed too hard on the scar. She rubbed the skin in silent apology. "He threatened Lloyd so that I would release the seal."

"And you didn't?"

"…I'm Lloyd's parent, but I have no right to him as a father."

"So you hesitated."

"I did. Yuan took advantage." That was always Yuan's strength: reading people and situations, finding vulnerable points. "…He mentioned Anna." _(Martel closes her eyes then, squeezes them shut because that's a different kind of vicious, one that Yuan has always been capable of, one that he_ excels _at, but if one had asked Martel, she would have said that Yuan wouldn't have done that to Kratos. Not in a million years)_ "Lloyd got defensive and went for him when his back was turned."

Martel could guess what happened next. She'd seen it; four thousand years later and Yuan was still a soldier and you never really left war behind you. "He reacted."

"And so did I."

He'd defended his son on instinct, regardless of whatever he believed about being a father. That was the man she knew.

_(He can't tell her the full extent of that night. Can't tell her what Mithos did, the things he said to Yuan. He knows what she's seen of Mithos, of his insanity, but he doesn't want her to know the extent of her little brother's cruelty)_

He felt a gentle swell of mana behind him, the kind he hadn't felt since before she died. Martel's healing had always felt unique to him. The mana trickled into the scars, all the way to the root of the wound. "Have you had any motor problems?" Martel asked and she was entirely the Healer right now. "Tremors? Loss of control?"

Kratos shook his head. "No. Just stiffness and tightness when there's a storm coming."

That made sense. Yuan's mana was tuned to electricity, was explosive in its power and Yuan's power had always been incredibly natural, not like hers and Kratos', that had come more from study.

"Good. He almost got to your spinal cord. Looks like he managed to pull it back enough that the damage wouldn't be permanent." Which had to have been an enormous effort for an instinctive attack. Martel let her mana sink deeper into the damaged tissue, healing it from the inside out.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Martel at her work and Kratos staying as still as possible. There were a lot of layers to this healing, a lot of badly damaged tissue. _(Martel hates to even think it, but she kind of enjoys the challenge, enjoys having to puzzle out the best way to fix this. She hates that he's been wounded, but she can't deny that she'd been getting rusty)_

"…Can I ask you something?"

"Of course." His answer was automatic, no hesitation.

Martel bit her lip. "…Do you think he could have been saved?"

She didn't have to say the name. Kratos knew her better than almost anyone. She pressed her hand against his shoulder, a firm reminder not to move his head, as he'd been going to. If he moved while she fixed the muscles in his back, it could go badly.

"Where did this come from?"

"It's just—Lloyd reminds me of you, you know. When you were younger." Martel smiled a little fondly, remembering the boy. "He has a lot of you in him."

"…I don't think so."

"You think he's more like Anna?" she asked gently.

"He has her kindness. Her bravery." Her grin, her nose. Her belief in people.

Martel hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe so." _(He doesn't see himself clearly. Never has. He is incredibly kind and it is far more difficult to be kind than it is to be brave, but he's never seen that. Warriors, soldiers—they aren't supposed to be kind. They're supposed to be brave. That got twisted up inside him, sometime long before he met her. Maybe even before he met Yuan. When he'd been a lonely little boy who only wanted to do his father proud…)_

"How did Lloyd remind you of him?" Kratos asked gently, bringing her back around to her original point.

In a lot of ways. Lloyd reminded her of Mithos so easily. He was all the potential that Mithos had had, all the stubbornness and sweetness, all the laughter and the courage. But while Lloyd grew up subjugated by Desians, he never went to War. Not like they did. Lloyd had a chance for lazy summer days, for dancing in the rain and playing with friends in the sunlight. Mithos never got that chance. His childhood was stolen from him.

Sometimes, Martel wondered if things would have turned out better if the War hadn't been imprinted in Mithos' skin, his bones, his very soul.

"Because…Lloyd believes that he could have been saved." Like Kratos would have believed, a long time ago. Like Mithos believed of people. "And he thought like that, Before. I told Lloyd I didn't think so, that there were some things you can't come back from. But I wanted to agree with him."

"Martel." Kratos paused so she could stop the flow of her mana, allowing him to turn towards her. "You can't save everyone. Some people don't _want_ to be saved. Somewhere along the line, Mithos stopped wanting it." And they had been too late to catch it.

She tried for a smile, but it came out shaky. "When did you get so wise?"

His eyes smiled a little, still sad, even if it didn't quite reach his lips the way it used to. "I'm an old man now. There had to be some benefit of aging."

_(He has always known what people need to hear. Mithos has been her responsibility since before she'd been old enough to know what that really meant. He's been her only family, her best friend, all her life. Kratos has been the only one to tell her that she can't have saved him from himself. None of them could have)_

* * *

The next morning, Martel woke to an otherwise empty room. Not surprising. Kratos had always been an early riser and from what she understood, angels didn't need to sleep like normal people did. She stuffed her feet in her socks and boots and scraped her hair up into a messy tail, not wanting to bother with it so early in her day. She thought about grabbing her cloak as well, but winter wasn't the same in Heimdall as it was in other areas. It never snowed and rarely did it get cold enough for ice to even form.

Martel eyed the front door to the inn, but…no. Kratos wouldn't be out in the public areas of Heimdall. She turned towards the back door, grabbing a few biscuits from the empty kitchen as she passed by. _(She has been a thief before, has stolen food and money. It's been a long time, but some things don't go away)_

Her prediction had been right. Kratos was out back, going through his forms with all the precision, power and speed that one would expect from a master swordsman. Martel sat on the edge of the porch, munching on a biscuit as she watched. Many of the forms were new and that made her smile. Kratos had always been a man to value learning; he'd followed the developments of sword styles, had seen them rise and fall with empires, had mastered them and hadn't allowed himself to forget a single one.

"Quite a lot of energy for an 'old man'," Martel teased when he was done. He moved to sit beside her, breathing hard.

She heard him chuckle as he took one of the offered biscuits. "You have a question."

Martel gave him a look. "You can be an irritating know-it-all."

"So I hear." His lips twisted in an approximation of a grin, mischief sparking in his eyes. _(For an instant, he's the young man in her memories, daring enough to constantly be getting in trouble with Yuan and clever enough to get them out of it. Had Anna known that man? Had she ever seen him?)_

"…Tell me about Anna." She added a slight lilt at the end, making it a request.

The grin faded, his eyes dimming once again. "What do you want to know?"

It wasn't a refusal. "What was she like? I imagine she must've been quite something." Martel used to have dreams of their futures. Of Mithos hauling around his nieces and nephews around on his shoulders, chasing them through the house and grinning innocently when it was suppertime. Of children with her eyes and Yuan's hair, of dancing at Kratos' wedding. She'd always believed that the person who won Kratos' heart had to be someone extraordinary.

A sound came from low in Kratos' throat, one that was a mix of fond and some other emotion that Martel couldn't place. "She was. You'd have liked her."

Martel tucked her knees up, wrapping her elbows around them. "What was your wedding like?"

"Officially, we never had one. We were going to, at some point. She was terrible at planning; very 'big picture'." Kratos could remember the first time she'd called him her husband, how she'd burst out laughing at his shocked and dazed expression.

"That must have driven you crazy."

"Sometimes. But Anna…she made it difficult to mind things like that."

"Did you get to propose to her?"

"Not…actually. Not in the way you're thinking."

"So, no ring?"

"No." He wasn't looking at her, but she heard the smile in his voice. "She always said that she would just lose the thing. I gave her a locket instead." So she could always have a piece of home with her. "She liked taking photos. She wanted documentation of a free life."

"So she put one in the locket."

"Yes." _(She'd had a lot of photos, all placed neatly inside books. Some had decorated the walls of their home. Their home that Kvar burned to the ground, nothing but ashes left)_

"What about you? Did she get you a locket as well?"

Kratos shook his head. "She said she would get me a ring, a proper one, when it was all over." He'd been looking forward to it, had been with her in towns where she would stop at blacksmith shops to ask him what he thought of certain ones or to point ones out that she thought he would like.

He never got a ring. All he ever got was her locket he found on the rocks that day and Lloyd's little shoe.

"I wish I could have met her," Martel said softly. "I always wanted you to be happy, to have the life you deserved."

Kratos looked sideways at her. "I _was_ happy. With you and Yuan and Mithos." They'd been his first friends, his family.

"It's not the same." Martel pursed her lips, trying to find a way to explain her thoughts. "You—you've always had things that you thought were worth dying for. And we were worth killing for." Which was a much harder thing, for a man like Kratos. "But I think Anna was the one thing that you found that was worth _living_ for."

Kratos fell silent again, brushing away some breadcrumbs from his pants. It had been a long time since he'd had to deal with this kind of insight. Anna had been the last person to see him this clearly and to call him on it, besides.

"…the thought of you two together is a bit terrifying."

"Oh, really?"

"Really," Kratos confirmed, getting to his feet. "You would've been good friends. And I would never get another day's peace."

Martel threw her head back and laughed, not unkindly. _(If one listens closely, as Kratos always does, he can hear the sadness coating the layers of the laughter because Martel feels like she is full of nothing but missed opportunities and dead loved ones)_

* * *

 _We were strangers many hours and I missed you for so long_  
_When we were lions, lovers in combat_  
_Faded like your name on those jeans that I burned_  
_But I am older now and we did it when we were young_

* * *

Kratos was leaning on one of the pier railings in Luin, enjoying his lunch of duck sticky buns—other places had tried to imitate them, but there was no better place to get them than Luin—when he heard the familiar footsteps. Yuan leaned beside him and when he didn't immediately begin talking, Kratos offered him one of the sticky buns. Yuan had something to say and this was apparently one of those times when he would take his time doing so.

Yuan took the sticky bun gratefully and the two of them ate in comfortable silence. Kratos took the time to observe his best friend, cataloging the changes. He looked healthier, brighter. The sorrow that always trailed him wasn't as prevalent. It was still there, underneath, but no longer did it weigh on him like it had.

"…Martel and I are getting married."

"You already are. I was there." It was the happiest he'd ever seen Yuan.

"No, I mean…remarried. Martel suggested it. We're both different people than we were back then."

Kratos hummed in understanding. "That makes sense. So what are you worried about?"

"I want to get her a ring. One that goes with this." Yuan tapped the ring he'd worn for so long with his thumb.

"Like a matching set?" Kratos had seen a lot of different ways to wear rings when he'd looked at them with Anna.

"Mm."

"…I'm sure that Dirk would have suggestions," Kratos said carefully. "He has the skill to make it."

Yuan's eyes flicked over to Kratos. "He does." Yuan had seen Dirk's works throughout Sylvarant, from church altars to family heirlooms. "I was just surprised that you recommended him."

"I don't have a problem with Dirk, Yuan."

Yuan made a noncommittal sound in his throat before he finished off his sticky bun. "I'll go see him. Are you going to be here?"

"I can be." Kratos didn't have a plan most days. He was still trying to figure out what he would do, now. Perhaps a sword smith. He could forge swords; they'd taught him how at the military academy, but the idea left a strange taste in his mouth.

Yuan pushed himself off the railing. He hesitated before stepping away. "Is there anything you'd like me to tell Lloyd?"

Kratos didn't answer and after a moment, Yuan's footsteps receded.

* * *

Yuan ended up coming back the next day, a little bit before noon. Kratos sat by the fountain, a book in hand.

He looked over the top of his book at Yuan. "You're late."

"I've never been the most punctual person." Yuan took a few folded pieces of paper from his pocket. "Dirk and I managed to narrow it down to a few ideas."

Kratos marked his place and set the book aside, taking the papers and unfolding them one at a time. Any of them would have been lovely pieces; Dirk had an eye for design far beyond just the dwarven norms of geometric shapes. Yuan flipped through the book idly, careful not to lose the bookmarked page, as Kratos weighed each of the options. _(He can act as nonchalantly as he likes, but Kratos can see the nervousness in the set of his shoulders)_

"...I would choose this one," Kratos said finally, holding out the paper, pointing.

The one he'd chosen would be slightly thicker than the rings that Yuan and Martel currently wore, but not enough to be noticeable. It would be made of a bright steel and in the center would be carved ivy leaves inlaid with gold.

Yuan smiled a little. "That was my first choice too." He folded the paper back up to be slipped into his pocket. "Would you be terribly opposed to being my best man again?"

"If I have to."

That made Yuan snort in laughter and he saw Kratos' lips curve slightly. "Such enthusiasm."

"Only you can bring it out in me. Do you have a date set?"

"Because you would have to clear your calendar of your many pressing engagements?"

"You never know."

"We were thinking this spring."

Spring. New beginnings. Growing things. Fresh starts. How appropriate. "I'll save the date."

* * *

Kratos went to visit Martel at the Renegade base a few weeks afterwards. He found her training with her staff outside in a tank top and a pair of shorts, her hair in a short tail. He crossed his arms and watched, taking notes on her form.

He wondered if Yuan had been training with her because some of those movements weren't her old ones. Overall, her movements were smooth and strong, but there were places where she faltered, her hands hesitating or her feet stumbling. This was exercise her arms hadn't had in a long time and while Martel's staff wasn't particularly heavy, enough work with it would put strain on her muscles, particularly her wrists.

Finally, she finished, leaning on her staff. Kratos spotted a bottle of water sitting in the shade of a nearby rock and picked it up before walking to Martel. "Here," he told her. "And drink slowly."

Martel took grateful sips of the water, sweat beading down her forehead, loose hairs sticking to her face. "Enjoy the show?" she asked, breathing hard. Martel had been able to keep up with her boys, once, at least as far as physical fights went. She'd been the weakest of the four of them, in that department, but she still put up a fierce fight. These days, however, a lot of her endurance was gone.

"How long have you been doing this again?"

"A few weeks now." Martel shot him a proud grin. "I can get through the entire forms now, at least. I couldn't finish them when I started."

Kratos smiled. "Are you doing this every morning?"

"Most mornings." There were some days when her muscles needed the rest and if physical therapy had taught Martel anything, it was where her body's limits were and when to push them.

"Perhaps I'll join you tomorrow."

"That would be nice." Martel gulped down some more water, her breathing evening out. "What brings you around here?"

"Visiting you can't be reason enough?"

She linked arms with him automatically, but then remembered that she was sweaty and, frankly, rather gross and she tried to pull away. Kratos just held on a little tighter, not enough that she couldn't get out if she really wanted to, but enough to send the message that he didn't mind. _(Kratos doesn't think that there's anything he would mind. She is here, alive and well, able to laugh and smile and walk with him again and if a little sweat on him is the price, he will pay it gladly)_

"It can be," Martel said. "But I know you."

"I heard about the engagement…re-engagement?"

"I don't think that's a word, Kratos. And what about it?"

"I thought congratulations were in order."

Martel laughed at that, the sound ringing out into the empty desert. "Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, but I didn't expect that from you, of all people."

The look in his eyes was fond, a faint smile tilting his lips. "You deserve happiness, Martel. You and Yuan. I'm glad to see it happen again."

"You deserve happiness too," she reminded him.

"In a way, I am." _(He's content, now. He will find something to do with his immortality, but he knows that he will likely never find happiness like before again. Not like Anna. But he has his friends back, has a measure of peace. His son is thriving, Martel and Yuan are happy. Perhaps that can be enough)_

"Do you know what you're going to do?" she asked. "Now that Cruxis has been dismantled?" After she'd gone travelling, he'd been working to destroy all the Exspheres that had been on Derris Kharlan.

"I thought of teaching, at first," Kratos said.

"Only at first? You'd make a wonderful teacher." Kratos had been the one to teach Yuan to read, as well as several others from their camp. He likely would have taught many more people—and children too, in places like the capital where they spent a lot of time—but no one had wanted to trust a human to do something like that. Martel had heard from Lloyd how Kratos had helped him improve his swordsmanship when they travelled together.

"Maybe. I also thought of being a historian."

"A historian?" It sounded like a good life for Kratos. Peaceful, constantly seeking knowledge.

"Mm. The elves have their Storyteller. I thought that the other races needed someone to document history as it is, not as people would like to present it."

"Fair enough. And that's really what you want to do?"

"For now. Perhaps I will change things up along the line, but…the quiet life seems very appealing."

Martel could completely understand that. "Sounds like a plan to me."

* * *

 _You're the light from the moon tonight_  
_You're the history I will write_  
_You're the last stop and I arrive_  
_You're the one for the rest of time_

* * *

Martel had been planning on a simple wedding; that was what their first wedding was. Under the trees, with whatever food people brought and a few lanterns hung on branches.

Apparently, that wasn't the case this time.

"Getting married without a proper wedding dress?" Zelos said, arching his eyebrows. He had volunteered his 'expertise' in helping Martel out with the wedding. But then, most of them had. Colette and Sheena were here as well. Regal had offered, but Martel told him that there was already plenty of help. If they needed him, they would call. Though she was starting to think Regal would have been better at this than Zelos. "Scandalous."

"I never had a proper wedding dress," Martel explained patiently. "And besides, it's not as if white is really an appropriate color for me anymore."

Zelos waved his hands in front of him. "I'm going to stop you right there. Didn't need that mental image."

"Seconded," Sheena said, grimacing. "But think of it this way, white is for new beginnings too. That's what this is for you two, isn't it?"

"Yes," Martel answered slowly. "But I don't need a really nice dress, honestly."

"No one does," Zelos told her. "But it's your day. You should dress like it."

"If it's my day, shouldn't I dress as I want?"

"Well, yes—"

Martel chuckled at Zelos' expression. She didn't imagine that he got outfoxed in arguments very often. "Alright. Where do I get a wedding dress these days?"

* * *

Martel must have tried on a dozen dresses in a dozen styles. Sleeveless, low-cut, formfitting or fluffy, lacy or ruffled.

"How do people breathe in these things?" Martel asked as she stepped out in another one. This one flared out at the bottom and there was some kind of corset built into it that was squeezing her ribs.

"That's been my question for years," Sheena said. Weddings in Mizuho were, in her opinion, far more comfortable for the bride, in terms of clothing. The kimono were several layers of fabric, so it could get hot, but at least you could breathe easily. 

"It looks uncomfortable," Colette offered.

"It is." Martel plucked at the skirt, which squeezed her thighs together, it was so tight. "I don't think I could even walk in this."

"I kind of want to see you try, if that makes you feel any better," Zelos said, grinning.

Martel shot him a look and had to do a strange sort of walk where her feet swung out because she couldn't really bend her knees in this thing.

After another hour, Martel stepped out, a different trail of skirts following her. "I think this is the one. What do you think?"

"It suits you," Sheena said. "And I think you can actually breathe in it."

"Miracle upon miracle," Martel said dryly. _(Sometimes, Sheena can see the overlap in humor between Martel and Yuan, even Kratos. It's odd and it makes Sheena wonder if Mithos had ever done it too, if that had been his sense of humor too)_

"You're a walking dream," Zelos told her and while he was dressing the sentence up, he wasn't lying.

* * *

When Martel got back to the base—a place that was quickly becoming associated with 'home' to her, though she couldn't remember the last time that home was a place. She'd been on the move for almost her entire life. Home had always been three people _(Two people, now)_ —Yuan was in the shower. By the time he got out, Martel was in her pajamas and had summoned a ball of witchlight to read by. Electricity was something she was more familiar with now, but at times like these, quiet moments, private moments, magic was still her default.

"How was dress shopping?" Yuan asked, grabbing a smaller towel from the stack by the bathroom door to roughly towel his hair dry.

"Very successful." The dress was being kept in her old room in Derris-Kharlan. Not that Yuan would actually look at it before the big day—he could be a bit superstitious, sometimes and that had been his caveat, not hers. No seeing the dress before the big day. _(This, of all things, he can't risk jinxing. Not her. Not their life together)_

He looked at her through a messy curtain of hair. "And vaguely frustrating?" Martel had told him how she felt awkward sometimes, shopping for clothes in this day and age. The styles could be so different and the prices—even though she'd been warned about inflation—made it worse.

"At first." Martel closed the book, keeping her place with her index finger. "Mostly baffling. Fashion is something I don't think I will ever be able to get used to. Or understand." There had been no time for fashion as she grew up. She'd worn whatever she could find or make herself.

"I don't think there's any codebreaker in the world who's capable of understanding it."

Yuan felt her eyes on him as he dried off and dressed. Ordinarily, he wouldn't be bothered, but Martel seemed particularly focused, so after he was finished debating about whether to wear a shirt to bed or not—the answer was not. Triet was entirely too hot, particularly if someone was sleeping beside him _(Not that Yuan is complaining, that he will ever complain about Martel's presence)—_ he stood straight up, locking eyes with her.

"See something you like?" Yuan asked finally. It wasn't quite teasing because he could feel something was off, even if he couldn't find the reason for it.

Martel ignored his question and he followed her gaze to roughly a foot below his eye level. The Cruxis Crystal. He hardly noticed it, these days. He felt the warmth that the shower had left him with trickle away.

Yuan could see the question in her eyes and waited, somewhat impatiently, for her to find the words to phrase it. Martel uncurled herself from the bed, moving to stand in front of him. Her fingers traced the Crystal, with its Key Crest before her eyes moved up, following the lines of his face.

"You know," she began. "Sometimes, it doesn't seem like four thousand years. Not to me. It feels like some strange dream. Sometimes, I expect to wake up and hear the bombs going off, to see you and Kratos as you were, to see Mithos." Her voice broke a little on her brother's voice, but she powered through. This wasn't about him.

"We're still the same. Physically, anyway," Yuan said quietly.

"Not to me. I've known you both for half of my life. I can see the differences." Their expressions, their eyes, even their noses weren't quite the same. They'd been broken, at some point. Maybe if she weren't a Healer, she wouldn't be able to see it; they had healed well, after all, almost completely straight.

Usually, Yuan could find the trains of Martel's thoughts, could figure out what was going on in her head. This was one of the rare times that he had no clue what was on her mind and it made him a bit nervous. It wasn't like Martel to beat around the bush. "What's your point, Martel?" he asked.

She bit her lip a little before answering, "…Are you ever going to remove this? Or am I going to grow old by myself?"

Yuan stood there, stunned, for a few moments. Of all the possibilities, that hadn't been remotely where Yuan thought that was going. "Remove it?"

Something inside her hardened—it wasn't her eyes or face. They were still soft and thoughtful—and she took a few steps back. "I didn't think it was such an absurd concept."

"No, it's not." Of course it wasn't. Martel didn't even wear her Crystal. It had kept her alive all those millennia, but she'd removed it after recovering her memories. She hadn't even worn it through her travels. It didn't affect her aging right away; her internal metabolism had been slowed to a stop for four thousand years. She would forever age slower, even for a half-elf, before her metabolism righted itself. In fact, her metabolism might never return to its original self. There were some things that the body couldn't bring back all the way.

"So why are you staring at me like that?" Martel asked, folding her arms across her stomach.

"I wasn't expecting it. I'm allowed to be surprised, aren't I?"

"I suppose. Well?"

"Well, what?"

"My question. _Are_ you ever going to remove it?"

The answer should have been easy. Yes. Right now. After all, that's what they'd always wanted, right? To live out their lives, to grow old together. As of this instant, Martel was the only one aging, however slow it might be.

But there was some irrational part of his mind that was afraid. Not of aging, of growing old and dying, no; he'd been through far worse. Dying was a concept he'd gotten familiar with at a very early age, with starvation clawing at his belly and dying old had been little more than a dream during the war. It was the idea of his mana reacting badly, of going out of control. Yuan knew the statistics; his mana wasn't likely to crystallize like Colette's and Martel's had in reaction to it. If things went badly, his mana was likely to do the opposite: go absolutely haywire, changing him into a monster. He had seen the results of the experiments, had seen Exspheres removed and their hosts' not even able to remember who they were.

_(He remembers friends, right at the end of the war. Remembers them removing the Exspheres that the dwarves had traded them, remembers the rumors of monsters roaming the hills. He remembers the prisoners' terrified, skeletal faces before they transformed. He remembers Kratos, pale and trembling, hands red with blood with a death grip on a little shoe. Remembers that look in Kratos' eyes, the one that's faded, mostly, but there are days when it's more visible, when the memory of killing Anna is more vivid and raw in his mind)_

Yuan didn't quite know how to put that fear into words. It wasn't something he'd verbalized even to himself. It had always been a distant thought; after all, before Martel had been found alive, the option would always have been suicide before living out his days alone.

Martel's eyes softened as she watched him and her arms dropped. "What don't I know?" she asked carefully.

It took Yuan another few minutes to find the words and a long moment to get them past the lump in his throat. "…I don't want to end up like Anna did."

He never said the words 'I'm afraid' or 'I'm scared'. He didn't have to. Martel still knew him well enough to understand what he wasn't saying. _(He doesn't want to risk hurting Martel when he's lost his mind .Doesn't want her to have to kill him. Or, Spirits forbid, have Kratos kill him. Not like that)_

"Do you think that'll happen?" Martel asked.

Yuan shook his head. "There's a very good chance that it won't. With the Exsphere having been attached as long as it has, one in a million chance."

"One in a million, huh?" She stepped back up to him. Her scent was calming, like grass with a sharp undertone of herbal ointment. "We've beat worse odds than that. I'd be willing to risk it."

Faith. She had faith. She always had and he really didn't know where she found it. Or why it was in him, where it was so badly misplaced.

But she had faith enough to share, so he said, "…okay."

_(The actual loss of his Cruxis Crystal is a little anticlimactic. He feels the lack of it, feels the empty space where it had been attached, where it had enhanced him, but it's not as significant a change as he'd thought it would be. Which is good, because no significant changes mean he isn't turning into a monster, he isn't crystallizing and he's okay)_

* * *

Kratos noticed the difference immediately. "You removed the Crystal?" It wasn't the physical lack of the Crystal that he noticed first. It was the change in Yuan's mana. Nothing significant, but after four thousand plus years of Yuan's mana being an almost constant presence, Kratos would notice any changes.

"Yes." He didn't ask for an explanation, something that Yuan was rather appreciative of. "So. Why are you here?"

Kratos stayed where he was, right near the door. Yuan realized, at this moment, that he'd never seen his best friend in a suit, not since they'd been kids. And back then, a suit hadn't fit him correctly. Not because of a bad tailor—General Aurion had only provided the best for his only child—but because Kratos had hunched and shrunk himself away. He hadn't been comfortable with himself yet.

The Kratos of the here and now, though, absolutely was. He still stood a bit stiffly in the black jacket, unbuttoned for now, his waist bare of any sword. His hair had been tamed, somewhat. There were a few daffodils tucked in his lapel; the flower was too bright for him, but Martel had explained the meaning to them both and they thought it quite appropriate. New beginnings, chivalry, good fortune and joy.

"Making sure you don't hyperventilate," Kratos told him flatly. It was almost a joke, but it hadn't been on Yuan's first wedding day. Kratos stepped forward to carefully unknot Yuan's tie. "And you've always been terrible with formalwear."

Yuan chuckled as Kratos skillfully tied the tie, smoothing out any wrinkles. Some skills, even rarely used, didn't go away. "Fair enough." He eyed the Cruxis Crystal on Kratos' hand. "Do you think you'll ever remove yours?"

"I'm not sure. And even if I was," Kratos flicked away loose strands of blue hair from Yuan's face, stroking his eyebrows smooth. _(Kratos is a master at fussing, even if he doesn't have the urge to do it very often. Yuan doesn't remember him being that way when they were kids. Perhaps it is the father in him)_ "Today is not the day to discuss that."

"No, it isn't. How's Martel doing?" His thumb went back to the old ring still on his finger, rubbing against it. He would never be rid of that particular habit.

"I don't know. I haven't visited her yet."

Yuan had had four thousand and twenty years to get used to the idea of having Kratos as a best friend, of having a brother closer than any of his that had been related by blood. But there were still some times that the idea surprised him. Like now.

"I don't think I'm going to hyperventilate today," Yuan told him seriously.

"That's what you said last time."

Yuan had also had the same four thousand and twenty years to get used to Kratos' stubbornness. It's not enough time. "Kratos, I will physically throw you out of this room if I have to. Just—check on Martel?"

It took him another moment, but Kratos conceded, closing the door quietly behind him.

* * *

Martel wasn't surprised when Kratos' entrance was preceded by three curt knocks. Her room on Derris-Kharlan was the same as it had ever been and she'd needed some help to get the dress zipped up properly in the back. Colette had helped with that, as well as smoothing out the several layers to her skirt. Sheena had done some kind of fancy twist to Martel's hair—it was something she was quite good at, citing that traditional Mizuho hairstyles for festivals could get rather complex—and Presea had donated some flowers to decorate her hair. Her mama had used those flowers at her wedding, Presea had said. _(She had thought that they'd burned with Ozette, that she'd never see them again. She'd been pleased to find them in the lowlands of the Ossa Trail)_

Martel had thanked them for all the help, but told them that she needed a few minutes alone, just to clear her head. The girls had smiled and told her they'd see her down the aisle.

She took several deep breaths and her dress was just tight enough for her to feel the constriction against her ribs, but not uncomfortably so.

She had to admit, the look on Kratos' face when she stood to greet him was sort of priceless.

"Do I pass inspection?" Martel asked, turning on the spot. It's a movement that's girlish and that belonged to the person she might have been, before a war, before her death. Today, of all days, she kind of wanted to be that person, even if it was only for a little bit.

"You're a vision," he said.

Martel smiled at him. She wasn't sure, exactly, when Kratos started being comfortable with her—not just as a person, because he'd never been very good with people to begin with, but as a woman because Kratos hadn't been around many of them either.

"You don't look so bad yourself. Did you actually use a brush?" The look that flashed through his eyes made her laugh. Martel leaned her hip back against a table. "Has Yuan hyperventilated yet?"

"Not yet."

"That's a good sign." Martel's chuckle was a bit forced and strained.

"Is something wrong?"

"…The last time I was in a wedding dress, Mithos braided the flowers into my hair." Martel twisted the ring on the chain; she didn't wear it on her hand the way Yuan did. It didn't feel quite right. "…he was so proud that day, do you remember?"

Kratos made a sound of quiet acknowledgment. "Yes. He cried."

"We all did." _(They had been joyful tears, relieved tears. No one ever thought they were going to live to see happy days, not on the front lines. The wedding had been a rushed affair, in the last few weeks of autumn in the mountains, before the paths had been closed off with snow. They'd gathered what food they could and they'd been married by the village elder. Martel remembers Mithos walking her down the aisle, remembers how his eyes had gone so wide at the sight of her in the plain white dress that she'd borrowed. "Whoa, Martel! You look like a queen!" She remembers laughing and asking him if he could fix her hair; her hands had been shaking so badly with nervousness that she couldn't do it herself. He'd combed her hair out lovingly, the little wildflowers carefully braided in. He'd kissed the top of her head when he was finished…)_

"I wish he could be here," Martel said. She blinked away sudden tears, swallowing past a lump in her throat. "I—"

Kratos took a step forward and just opened his arms, a wordless offer of comfort that Martel gladly took. She buried her nose in his collarbone as he wrapped his arms around her, sturdy and strong as ever. She breathed in his scent, anchoring herself in something that was still somewhat familiar; grass, metal, and old books. _(There are no words he can say that will make this better. Life hasn't been fair to any of them; Martel deserves to have her brother at her side on her wedding day. She deserves to have no sad thoughts to invade a day like this, deserves not to even need a second wedding. But here they are, with her brother having died a mad, broken boy and none of them are whole anymore. All Kratos can do is hang on and lend her his strength)_

When he felt her shaking subside, Kratos pulled away a little. "Are you still going to do this?" he asked.

Her smile was a bit watery, but still managed to be strong. "I'm not about to get cold feet now. The love of my life is waiting for me."

He gently wiped away any lingering tears. "There's the woman I know." He glanced at a clock. "You're due out there soon. Ready?"

Martel squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "Let's go." Before he pulled away entirely, she called him back. When his puzzled eyes were back on her, she asked, "Do me a favor?"

"Of course."

"Walk me down the aisle?"

Kratos offered her his elbow. "My Lady."

That made her chuckle, even as she looped her arm through his. "Still calling me that?"

"Absolutely."

* * *

It took all of his military training to keep from fidgeting. Yuan concentrated on his breathing, on keeping it steady and even _(Now is not the time to hyperventilate and allow Kratos the chance to say "I told you so.")_ and on the audience.

There wasn't a large turnout, naturally. Martel had wanted for Lloyd and his companions to be there. They had dressed in their best. Lloyd in something very similar to his usual jacket and pants, but in crisp white. The wind played at the frills of Colette's sundress, her hair in a long, single braid. Genis wore a dark jacket and pants, a bowtie around his collar. Yuan was surprised to see Raine in a dress as well, simple and dark blue with a white shawl about her shoulders. Sheena was in kimono, white lotuses and yellow leaves floating on a field of bright red, a color of good fortune in Mizuho. Zelos had braided his hair as well, wearing it over one shoulder, a sharp contrast to his black jacket and white shirt. Regal was dressed similarly, looking every part the Duke. Presea shifted in her seat, adjusting the pink-hemmed skirt of her dark maroon dress.

The Spirit was officiating, standing near her Tree. A lily was poked into her hair, which was largely brown now, but there were highlights the color of straw. Yuan glanced at the flowers that marked her footsteps; magnolias and stephanotis and sweet peas. The magnolias were thick and sweet in the air, overpowering the other flowers.

_(For a moment, Yuan sees Mithos sitting there too, sunlight glinting off his hair and eyes bright with happiness and pride rather than madness. That is the Mithos he misses)_

Yuan heard the pair of footsteps and heartbeats before he saw them. When they came up the aisle, his breath froze in his chest at the sight of her. The flowing skirt of Martel's dress skimmed over the grass, the bodice laced and beaded. Though he had been living with her for a few months now as they got used to each other again, Yuan couldn't quite get used to the sight of her walking so confidently and smoothly, to see her healthy and smiling, freckles dotting her cheeks.

The vows were said—changed, slightly, from their original ones. To give that which is theirs to give, to be shields to each other's backs, and above all, to honor and cherish for all of this life. Last time, there had been a scarf joining their hands together. They forwent that this time and they simply slid the rings on each other's fingers.

"You may kiss the bride."

Martel surged up to kiss him, hands curling about his neck and it made Yuan chuckle a little. "I don't think you understand who the bride is," he murmured against her lips.

"Don't be sexist," she chided as she pulled away, even as they were officially pronounced husband and wife.

"I'm not. I simply can't pull off that dress like you can."

Martel grinned wickedly at him. "I don't think you're trying hard enough."

Yuan couldn't resist kissing her again, tugging her closer to deepen it; how had he ever survived without this? Without her energy, her faith, her sweet-and-sharp humor?

He felt Kratos' expression as they broke apart. When he looked over, one of Kratos' eyebrows was arched, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Are you quite done?"

Yuan could only grin a little, feeling Martel pressed against his side. _(Solid and beautifully alive and she's not going away. She is not some dream to be snatched away, some trick of his mind. This is real…)_

"I certainly hope not."

* * *

 _I am the sand in the bottom half of the hour glass_  
_I try to picture me without you but I can't_  
_'Cause we could be immortals_  
_Just not for long, for long_

* * *

_Me and you, we got more yesterday than anybody. We need some kind of tomorrow.  
-Toni Morrison (Beloved)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a journey this story has taken me through. It's been such a challenge, writing these new interactions and relationships. Characters kept developing themselves in unpredictable ways as I wrote so I changed and rewrote a lot of this chapter because I wasn't quite able to decide how I wanted it to end. After much debate, I decided I wanted a happy ending for them, just this once. Thanks for sticking through to the end, I'm sure it wasn't easy.


End file.
